Life never goes as planned. Suffering is always there, piling up snow balls when we avoid it.
Even so, knowing the inevitability of pain on the journey still makes me wish for ice cream and imposed structure, allowing the sacrifice of self for three squares and a roof overhead.
I think of cattle. They have a not bad arrangement. Food. Shelter. The sacrifice of life for a stable existence.
It's easy to apply that model to the human condition.
We sacrifice aspirations for peace of mind, our humanity to ignore and isolate the ignoble suffering around us. As if by creating more and more boundaries between ourselves and our other humans, we can ignore the luck of our own draw, the chutes and ladders of our souls.
But I am still weary these days.
Wishing for some respite from the war engaged, knowing too much to even be complacent ever again, but dreaming of that blissful ignorance, that papa's going to make it all right, or papa's going to take it all away.
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