Agnostic consolation

“Cause everybody knows, that nobody really knows
How to make it work, or how to ease the hurt
We've heard it all before
That everybody knows just how to make it right
I wish we gave it one more try
One more try, One more try, One more try
Cause everybody knows, but nobody really knows.”

'Everybody Knows', John Legend

My chest burns. It feels as if someone is attempting to get away from my chest but has a hard time pushing their feet strongly to the ground, lifting themselves up and away from that area that feels so intimately me.

This is crushing me, my dear. I can’t survive this way, conditioning tells me. Nausea takes over, my facial muscles shrink, it feels as if I am swallowing something hurtful, sharp or toxic even. This is disgust stemming from early life hood experiences, so I construct. I do not want to swallow this anymore; I do not want to spit it out either. I want to breath freely, soften my face, break free from this suffocating umbilical cord. I want to be open.

Less mean, more loving. More lovingfull, less mean-ingfull. In any case, clear.

My heart wants to scream, howl. But it is silent in this little, shrinking spot called Lot. Silence is like a blanket wrapping me up in a warm pressure stemming from depths that even transcend direct physical connection. We scream by being silent, sometimes. Even babies do so, I reminisce.

At times, the deepest kind of consolation of emotional pain comes from knowing that nobody really knows. This time, I feel this to be painfully true because the current, attention demanding pain is intertwined with the wrongdoing projections do that are fueled by silent biases of superiority. Neglect of bitter loneliness, abuse of integrity. This is a quality of loneliness that brings persons together powerlessly unable to hold in each other sacred in that painful place, attached to the pain of loneliness, almost too mean(ingul) to let go of. The pain smothers one into apparent cardiac arrest, becoming closed off receivers of verbal rejection, becoming evenly skilled at the art of distancing anyway one can while being interdependent.

We even have to go back to the time we were babies. Clearly vulnerable, even if clearly gifted. Clearly preverbal, even if communicating.

Nobody really knows, everybody knows. Hear my agnostic consolation.

Look at that little one, big Lot. Honor her with and through radical gentleness. Life is truly vulnerable.