In many ways it feels easier to lose it than to keep going. You say to Luis lying on the hotel bed, how hard it is to tell someone you care about that they can’t mourn their own situation, because they are not yet safe, it is not yet over, they cannot yet put down their burden and accept the harbor of another’s arms. Do we ever reach such a point? Or do we carve out moments of peace amidst the endless barrage that is living?
What is it you gain from being sick? An excuse to not participate in the world. A way of living that does not also serve you.
This morning I look closely, at the objects in the garbage can, at the orange petals, half the bunch hanging down, and the other half still reaching for the sun.
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