Something is always blooming..

Ive been thinking. Maybe pain is not meant to be silenced, numbed, talked over, explained away, rationalized, or solved. I think pain often resists the application of our tools and our hacks and our fixes. Maybe all pain desires is to be heard, to be lived, to be breathed, to be suffered with. The art of darkness requires us to become familiar with the labyrinth of our internal world. Maybe we must resist the urge to stop and light a candle, not when the darkness gleams with its own subtle radiance, if only we allowed the eyes of the heart a moment to adjust. Maybe the way through darkness is not with light, but with the thread, with what is tangible and felt and can be grasped and held onto. And so, darkness becomes an art, becomes beloved, becomes a guide and faithful friend. And we find that even in darkness, something is always blooming.