Weighed down by the large and the little, the immense suffering of thousands upon thousands of refugees, desperate, hungry people.
The suffering of a husband who battles with an unknown chronic illness. The littleness of living with constant pain and discomfort in a comfortable society, a society which strives to chronicle and control and consume pain relief as if that is all there is, all there is meant to be. And still, still we can't control the symptoms let alone discover the underlying cause.
And the sorrow of borrowing trouble from the morrow. Because I know we grow old and suffering comes to us all. Death and Bereavement comes to us all, to some more than others, to some sooner rather than later.
My heart is weighed down by the sorrow of not feeling sorrow. Weighed down by feeling that it is all too much, that I can't carry it all, the weight of not being able to feel any long because it is indeed too much for me.
This makes for uncomfortable living. I hold it in a parallel life, a thread running through and next to my life of the comfortable mundane.
So these writers help me: