The Hollow Hearted Society

Weakness is masquerading as strength, walking among us with flashy muscles and a hollow heart.

What’s worse, is it rubs our noses in it.

What’s worse,

is some stay silent.

 

 

Weakness has slithered into our

Subconscious and rewired our sight

It has ripped from the corpses

Of its victims

And fashioned a strong looking Giant

It whispers

And we don’t turn away

We listen

We don’t fight back.

Is that why some join in?

For the lack of having to care

Exerting energy, compassion

The possibility of vulnerabilty

is it really

that terrifying

the a person would prefer

to burn another alive

so they never

have to learn what

a paper cut feels like?

 

Those who cry from the loss of a loved one

Or a life they thought was real

But found to be lies stitched together by the soul of one who

Pretends to have no heartbeat

-Them

They are eaten alive

By this instant gratifying, short lived pleasure dripping mask

This charade

That somehow

They are weak.

 

We are told the ones who are weak

Are those who fall down

More than once

And sometimes don’t tell

A soul

That theirs is slowly breaking down

And they don’t know what to do

 

We are told the weak ones

Are those who

Wake every day

With the knowledge

That their demons are still

Inside their blood, their skull,

In the marrow of their bones

And they have to fight them off

Again

and Again

And Evermore

Or cede one moment and

Never return to breathe

 

Those who feel

I mean Really Feel

And live like it all matters

Those who find life

Sacred

Worth fight for

Worth spilling would-be murderous blood

Worth dying for

Those who hurt

When another hurts

When a human is ripped away

From another soul

When a dog is

Tortured

A cat set on fire behind that building

Those who sob at home

When they see the pain

On the children’s faces

On tv

Those who ache

Because they can do nothing

For their love

Wrongly Accused

Wrongly Hated

Wrongly Treated

Battered and broken and treated

Like so much trash

Those who want life

But don’t know how to fight

 

 

Those who cry

Who hurt

Rage in their heart

Wish for some

Magical power

To make it all better

 

We are told that these people are the weak ones.

 

That the people who

Shoot for fun

Who hurt because they can

Rape like its a rite of passage

Lie to get what they want

Pretend they feel nothing

When inside

They are bleeding from every cell

That feeds into their

Battered heart

Hardly beating within a hollow

Cage made of bones and paper scraps

The people who give up on

Those who aren’t strong “like them”

The people who ressent those who

Hurt

Who can’t get back up right away

Like they pretend to

Who have to fight the same battle every day

Like they don’t bother to

Who keep getting hit with the same car

In their living room

Where there are no streets

No reason for someone

To drive through their home

And attack

Because they think it is fun

Because it feels good to hurt another

Because they no longer truly feel

Anything

But blood lust

And arrogance

An urge to strike

To force down

To hold mouths shut

and remove another’s power

 

We are told that these people are the strong ones.

Because they pretend they don’t feel

Until they don’t

Because they take what they want

By erasing another’s life

 

We are told that the people who are weak

Are the ones

Asking for help.

What scares me most, is when we believe their lies.

When we don’t stand up

We don’t cry

For people to see

We don’t step up to and beside those

Who have echoed what we know is truth

And speak truth with them

Even thought it is terror in our blood

And our bodies shake

And our hearts pound

But that’s the difference

We let the fear flow through us

as we stand for what we know

is hard

but right

What scares me is when

We don’t grab the hand

Of those who can’t find the words

Or the sense or the hope

And are seeking an anchor

A lighthouse

In another soul

So theirs doesn’t

Burn out

 

Like Gandhi once said,

“A coward is incapable of exhibiting love; it is the prerogative of the brave.”

 

We are all strong and we are all weak. Simply in different places and at different times.

To pretend apathy, hate, the cold heart… is strong, is to end any chance we have at a life worth living. At a world we can attempt to call humane. To pretend we are not who we are, is to put the gun in our own mouths, pull the trigger, and keep walking around, like we are somehow real.

 

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We Are All Cracked

A water bearer carried 2 pots from the river to her master’s house every day.

One pot was perfect, carried its load easily and without issue.

The second pot wore a crack.

By the time the water bearer got to her master’s home, the first pot would be filled to the brim with water, just as when she filled it at the river. The second pot, however, would only be half full, having leaked water the whole walk home.

This second pot was ashamed of its imperfection. It often wondered, “why not replace me?” One day it asked, humiliated and feeling ever so lacking.

The water bearer smiled kindly, lovingly. She said, “As we walk home, watch the flowers on the side of the path.”

The pot, in it’s misery watched the flowers along the side of the path, glumly resigned to a life of being worthless. I’m sure the cracked pot wondered why watching flowers could help anything. Along the way, it noticed there were only flowers on it’s side of the path. The pot carried on her other side, which leaked nothing and boasted perfection, had no flowers to watch go by on it’s side of the path.

When the water bearer arrived at the master’s home, she told the cracked pot, “You see, I knew you had a crack. I planted seeds on your side of the path and you watered them each day. I then pluck the flowers and beautify the master’s home with them each week.”

 

 

God loves us, cracks and all.

I love this story.

 

We all leak. We all have weaknesses, all make mistakes.

We still bring beauty to the world around us if we try our hardest to do so.

 

I just recently had hallucinations, you guys! It was crazy. But I was aware that I was hallucinating so it wasn’t so frightening. I did have to call in sick from work the next day though. Which sucked. But it happens.

You see, I was given a certain pill and had a monumentally horrid reaction. Eventually, not getting enough sleep, (even for me, having insomnia on and off), I ended up hallucinating.

Ha! Crazy experience!

What I’m getting at here, is this…

 

…I have a lot of health issues. They caused me to have to quit my full time job of construction. I now work part time and am searching for other part time work.

At the moment I cannot even buy my own food or my baby’s food (my dog).

I have quite a many cracks and, like the pot, there is nothing I can do to sew them up, to quit leaking. I cannot change how I was born. I can work toward a healthier life, yes, but I cannot change my health. I cannot slough off the debilitating depression or anxiety or exhaustion that shuts down my ability to focus or think properly (due to CFS), I cannot do anything about any of my health issues – and get another full time job and go to work like a normal, healthy person with stability of body and mind.

 

 

Often times I have felt like the cracked pot, ashamed of my weaknesses and inability to function like a hard working member of society.

But I’m now certain, somewhere along the way, the leaking I’ve done has allowed something wonderful to grow.

In the past month, I’ve realized, I am hard working. I am working crazily hard. With my family, helping others, attending my callings in life, writing, working part time, and coping with my limitations as best I can.

What more can I ask of myself?

 

We are all imperfect. We all have issues.

This is, of course, is only one part of my life. But I’ve shared with you so you can see how I can focus easily on what I cannot do, and woe over my incapacitates to have a purpose.

Or I can realize that by leaking, I’m helping flowers grow.

I am helping with much else in my life and the lives around me.

I have purpose.

I am loved, regardless.

 

I am cracked. We are all cracked.

We are lovable, regardless.

 

Crying is Not a Weakness

A few years ago, a Cherokee medicine woman shared with me the meaning of white roses and tears.

“We never wipe away our tears; we are not ashamed of them.” She said.

On the Trail of Tears, many of our ancestors were shoved and pushed and made to walk, often times until they died. It is said that when their tears touched the ground, a white rose grew. Others say that the white roses grew to give the mothers strength.

Regardless, we never wipe away our tears. We are not ashamed of them. We do not stop ourselves from crying because of sorrow or joy.

Tears are not shame. They are pain, they are joy, struggles and hopes. We are human and we feel. If we do not feel the urge to hide our smiles, why should we feel it necessary to hide our tears?

I mean, when did human emotion become something we’re supposed to be ashamed of? That doesn’t make any sense to me.

(And just in case you’re wondering, there really are white roses growing along the Trail of Tears.)

 

Ironically, I never cry in public. I’d be too embarrassed. Tears are personal to me. But I no longer consider them something to be ashamed of.

Do you?

 

(And don’t get annoying. I’m talking about sincere tears here, not people who are immature and cry over everything or to manipulate others.)

 

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