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Entries in sorrow (2)

Tuesday
Jun072016

invent a history

Inside laughter she cleaned his ears.

She's young, thin in a crisp white blouse with lipstick and recently married.

Men sweat. Women glow.

Her clean stainless steel tools removed babble, bike horns, whispers, ghost stories, lies, truth, encouraging symbolic metaphors, musical saws describing ice, a little hammer breaking ice.

INVENT A HISTORY

What's your greatest sorrow?

What's your greatest joy?

(Memory)

10 things you love.

10 things you dislike.

Confront your deepest shadow.

Tolerant and open minded. The greatest happiness = acceptance and gratitude.

You are a ghost here.

This is why people stare.

Everyone your age is dead.

 

Thursday
Oct072010

sorrow

Greetings,

"People who cause you difficulties you should think of them as very, very valuable teachers because they provide us with the opportunity to develop patience."

I'm a mercenary of the false disguise inside poverty's domain.

The land of fairytales inside lost childhood contains historical perspectives. 

Forgiveness and trust dance with passionate ambivalence. 

People here practice saying the I'M SORRY syndrome in the present continuous sentence structure. They say I am sorry from morning to night. When you ask them, "Why are you sorry?" they have absolutely no answer. They stare at you in pure dumb amazement. They know three little words. Their eyes and heart are blinded by fear, doubt and uncertainty. 

They repeat. I'm sorry. Perhaps this sorrow, this feeling of regret and loss and contrition and sadness is history speaking. Does history have a voice? Does history whisper or shout? 

Do genetic structures speak? How do new generations adapt, adjust and evolve with their ingrained, deep rooted genetic and cultural and historical lives of suffering? 1.7 million humans suffered and died between 1975-1979. The older generation teaches, by example and action how to be silent. I am sorry is acceptable.

Nuth is 10. She has parents. The other young people at the NGO supported cafe are orphans. We are all orphans sooner or later. They have a safe place to stay with their friends and learn practical job skills like cooking, customer service and basic cafe operations.

Nuth and I hang out, drawing, practicing English and sharing food. One day, no matter what I said, Nuth said, "I am sorry." I asked her what she was sorry about. She couldn't or wouldn't say. There was no context.

In a sense she was merely miming the older girls. Someone taught her. She heard. She repeated. Everyone here has paid the price of sorrow. It is endemic. They wear their perpetual sadness like a shroud. Their eyes and heart cannot hide their deep fear.

They are easily distracted, unfocused and always looking over their shoulder.

Before someone kills you say I am sorry. I am sorry for everything. I am the cause of all suffering.

Metta.