Work, but not too much.
Rest, but not too much.
Dance, laugh, revel and party,
Cry, howl, grieve and be somber,
But not too much.

Dote on your child, boast and be proud.
Admonish and discipline to teach.
Show them the beauty and joy in the world.
Point out the horrors, the evils, the dark.
But not too much.

And love.
Love until your heart explodes,
Until your body collapses,
Until the earth claws you back into her body.
Love until every part of you forgets what is to not love.
Love until exhaustion.
Love past exhaustion.
Love until the limit,
And you will find no limit.

We continually create narratives, of varying degrees of fantasy, to make order of a world that overwhelms and confuses us, “mathematics” being perhaps the most fantastical narrative of them all.

Math is a story that presumes the universe, far larger than our humble brains can comprehend, was created through a small series of beautifully precise rules.

I don’t know what is more fascinating – the thought of the hubris and insecurity that drives us to imagine that fantasy could be true, or the hope and thought that perhaps it is.

Spare a thought for the Devil, who must spend eternity enduring Faust’s constant diatribe of bitterness, resentment, and self-pity.

One view

What if we’re all suffering?

Some are astutely aware of it. Others stumble drunkenly through their lives, dully sensing the pain in moments when the anesthesia wears off and we have not found our next fix.

What if suffering is the human condition?

Another view:

What if suffering is the price of the human condition — what we pay for our tenure in our lives?

What does the price buy?

It buys beauty, love, joy. It buys caresses, children falling asleep on our laps, unexpected presents from nervous suitors. It buys awe, sunrises, fog lying low, and more.

What if suffering is the currency we must pay to buy all that?

If so, it’s the deal of the century, even if prices have gone up.

Old loves are like young bodies.

They are strong.
Each day, lifting their burdens, they grow more substantial, tougher, and more capable.

They are flexible.
They can stretch and bend to extremes as needed to make it through the world.

They are radiant.
They need no makeup, no coverings, no tricks of light for others to see their beauty.

They are resilient.
They can withstand much pain yet wake up the next morning yelling, “Yes! Again! Again!”

They are mortal.
They believe they can live forever, but can be wiped out in an instant if care is not taken.

(I took the above photo on Vigeland’s bridge)