Since Love and Emptiness are not-two, I feel our tears before they begin, before the world looms into view, the world that is just about to break our heart.
These are the tears of that world, crying out, weeping for itself in the midst of the suffering it brings on itself again, and yet again.
In this, and even in a way that we can’t say, these tears are a gift we grant to ourselves, a gift of salty water streaming down, pouring across our own cheeks in the face of all that we have inflicted on ourselves, the inexplicable sorrow we blindly recreate again and yet again, the everyday horror.
I feel you poised here, just on the brink of tears, swaying on the precipice of a cliff from which the whole wild display is visible — a palpable, pulsing panorama of joy and sorrow, hope and regret that somehow make us human, that make us laugh and cry and ponder why.
And no, there is no final answer. We really don’t know — we only feel it. We feel it, and the more we feel, the more we are capable of feeling, until it all coalesces into one single thing.
This thing we can’t name — is it living? Is it dying? We really don’t know, but only feel so profoundly that we are moved to tears, the tears of a whole world crying out for itself, weeping in the midst of the suffering it has brought upon itself, again and now again.
In such suffering we burn, before the mirror we cry hot tears, but can our tears ever burn through to the end of grief? Perhaps the great gift of tears is found in the recognition that there is a secret joy hidden in our sorrow.
Can we summon the courage to allow ourselves to feel so deeply, so completely, that we begin to awaken beyond our fear to that joy breathing there, silently, patiently waiting for us to reclaim our original innocence?
When we can allow such guileless vulnerability, life and death cease to threaten, cease to be the source of any anxious grasping or avoidance. Here and now, in the midst of our tears, the only question is: can we accept such a gift, how much will we let in?