The pilot paused for a second
to contemplate the beauty of the butterfly,
and its effect upon the world,
he reckoned it left a tear across the sky.
Some of the most profound things we will experience, and endure in our hearts,
are received with a spirit of sadness.
Significant loss, aches, tainting what was pure, things falling apart, and adjusting to all of the madness.
People who may appear to some as angels, taking their own lives, while tyrants some fear as a danger seem to remain, survive, and thrive.
We calculate the costs in significant loss and, in our egos, assess how it first affects us. We gripe and groan, we meddle and moan with our aches, always so that others hear our fuss.
When things that were seemingly pure are tainted, we focus on the one percent, rather than the ninety nine which might be saved. When things fall apart, we name names with disdain and blame, searching for malintention, yet this too is how the road to hell is paved.
And madness, oh madness, you have always been with us, growing as the population grows too. I would bet, there hasn’t been yet, a human being who has never known you. So we sit in sadness, and rest in love, and put things back together as they fall. But we must search for what exists in the mist behind the sadness, and then seek to answer its call.
“Then Job answered and said: I have heard many such things; miserable comforters are you all. Shall windy words have an end? Or what provokes you that you answer? I also could speak as you do, if you were in my place; I could join words together against you and shake my head at you. I could strengthen you with my mouth, and the sollace of my lips would assuage your pain.”
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