As I sit here, I wonder upon how life has been designed, knowing that these questions have already been asked. Yet few discuss their existence with one another. As I walk with you I ask how it is that you have come to walk with me along my path. I wonder how you feel about the challenges of life and its meanings. For these questions help me to understand my own existence better and to feel more connected to who you are and who I am.

To this current day I see that we find it difficult to share our stories with one another and we choose to focus our attention upon things that are happening in events, that seem to distract us from searching deeper within our own experiences. There is a tendency to take on the current mind sets of the times and not look beyond those to find what it is that we actually feel or believe. To search for ourselves within ourselves for our own knowing. How can we so easily take on the beliefs of others as our own. And when I say others I mean the current mind sets that are built within society.
You say to me, “I dont usually talk this deeply” and I wonder why. What does deep mean in this context? When these are just everyday wanderings in my mind.
Why do you sit with me and cry about things that have made you sad and tell me that you have never been able to do this with others? That these are things you have never shared before with another. When clearly the crying and the sharing is so soothing for you. To know this only makes me feel sad as I see how much you benefit from being heard by another. But I am also happy because now you are allowing yourself to be seen, and from your tears more light enters you. How is it that there are parts of us that will never been seen or felt by another, when these sharing s give us a greater sense of purpose and connection.

Such tears of relief suggest that there is great suffering in not being heard. Purhaps the pain of us not being able to share our feelings with others in the past such as our parents. Purhaps carrying the belief that it is not ok to have such feelings. Why are we so afraid of feelings… of another’s feelings, of our own feelings? We seem to fear them more than physical pain and stuff them down or hide them somewhere, and yet of we ignored a broken leg, it would not get better.