scraped knees

I read something today about behavior. That if we were told this was heaven, the vast majority of us wouldn’t do anything differently. If we were told this was hell, we wouldn’t change. If we were told this was heaven, hell, and earth all in one, people would be people. Kindness would be kindness. And darkness would still exist. Strangely, this idea gave me a lot of hope. Authenticity is one of my favorite qualities in a person. And I feel as though once that is applied to a different lens, it requires even less authority to be an outside eye looking in. And that’s what makes me uncomfy.

How lovely it would be to have a book that told you exactly how to feel, how long to feel it, and what to do to make it better. Like one of those diagrams in school that had bracket answers. Are you feeling sad today? Yes or no. Yes. Have you thought about why you might be feeling sad? Yes. Are you able to say it aloud? Yes. Do you feel anything else along with your sadness? Yes. Do you feel angry? Yes. Does your anger seem to come from the same place as your sadness? Yes. How have you dealt with it in a productive and real way? *insert short answer space here. And while those charts and diagrams, guides and research may be helpful, in the long run we know that everyone is different. Hearts all respond differently to both pain and joy. And how beautifully frustrating that can be.

A couple nights ago I was unable to identify and approach the fuzziness of my reality. And in a space I felt totally sane and totally safe, I grew to be someone that was painted insanely. Insanely heartbroken. Insanely angry. Insanely worn out. My bare feet carried me to a strip of cement that kept all the stars from traveling underground. Looking up all I could see was space. So much space.

“what are you looking at, mads?”

“something bigger.”