Tales of a supernova's daughter.

Monday, February 16, 2009

It occurred to me as I relaxed in pigeon pose tonight that I'm one of those whom I despise. Have I ever experienced more than the pastels of pain, explored any deeper than the shallows of rage? Perhaps I'm too confident in my ability to imagine ugliness.

I need to stop comparing. People aren't apples and apples; they're stars and doorknobs, oceans and arteries and peas and bolts of lightning.

People living in squalor, oppressed, toiling their entire lives to scrape out a meager existence... Can be radiantly happy, I've seen it. That's not justification for sitting back and allowing humanity to suffer; it's an affirmation of the natural luminescence of the human spirit.

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