and what to do with all of this suffering?
It’s not like by faking happy, or portraying to others that we are happy, we will actually become happier. In fact, all there is to gain from such denial and fakery is inauthenticity. By pretending, we only mask our pain so that it will rule our lives from the darkness, and we find it impossible to relieve our suffering.
Sure, we may surround ourselves with people who seem to appreciate the company of someone so optimistic, but the presence of so many people who do not even know our true selves will not remove the loneliness from our hearts. We only hope to become known for what we are not, rather than for being loved and acknowledged for who we are. Life is far too precious of a gift to hide away until it is too late to share.
So what is there to do with all of this suffering, for when we look (and I mean really look) we usually have plenty of raw materials that life has given to us? Lifetimes full of unfulfilled needs, unmet expectations, abandonments, rejections, loneliness, loss, separation, abuse, poverty, hunger, desperation and despair. Many of us could go on-and-on sorting through such unwanted and unrequested “gifts”.
Many of us get stuck trying to cast out the mess that has accumulated, as we’ve used them to construct the homes in which we live. We surround ourselves with darkness that we never intended to accept in the first place, walls of stacked re-gifts so unpleasant that they cannot (and should not) ever be re-gifted to others. Refuse often so filthy, not even garbage collectors, counselors or CDC agents find themselves willing to try to carry them away. Trying to transport such damage would only risk spreading dis-ease further, leaving us without homes that we had built since childhood.
There can seem little purpose to cling to and hoard these things, except for the knowledge that everything that happens is for a reason, even if the reason is not clear. If there was no purpose to have received all of this junk, why would a divine and loving spirit have thrust them upon us? Did we earn this karma? Did we as innocent children deserve to be neglected, abused, belittled and made to despise our own lives and ourselves? For some of us, by the time we were even teenagers, we were pleading for our lives to end, unable to understand the beauty of the lives we were suffering through.
In such an exploration a key can be found, the beauty found in life. Not every beautiful scene is made of bright colors and sunshiny days on pristine beaches. Beauty is often found in the most unexpected places. Moments of gentle peace falling like tears from blankets of grey clouds that cover us in dismal comfort, but true comfort nonetheless. Courage that only exists in the face of true fear. Love that can still be felt despite our wounds, and how those wounds exemplify and amplify the power of new love by providing contrast. Surely if we have never known darkness, how could we actually enjoy light? Life would be so bland and pointless without all the suffering.
So what else is there except to accept all those gifts as they are, to embrace and recognize them as being such, and making the most of them? What else is there but to turn those raw materials into art, expressing the truth of ourselves so that we can be truly known and appreciated, not needing to fake anything anymore. If one cannot sing a song that’s happy, then a sad song it may be, and many of the best songs ever made are also the saddest. At the very least, there is a song being sung, beauty being expressed into the world that was made from the raw materials of pain.
Without going to far out on a limb, I imagine that most people simply wish to be loved and accepted for who they are. For me a life without such true love is not even worth living. It is not possible for this to happen if I am not expressing myself authentically, at best I could only be loved for who I am not. So here lives the hidden treasure… here I am! Love and accept me if you will, or don’t… at least I have provided a true opportunity for such authentic love to exist.
ART – All Really True
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