I’ve spent much of my life believing I was the exception to the possibility of happiness. Through strange dreams, old wounds, and the Buddhist practice of loving-kindness, I began to question why I could wish peace for all beings but struggle to imagine it for myself.
The stressors change shape. The scenery shifts. The years pass.
And yet… the cycle remains.
Pain becomes numbness; numbness becomes apathy; apathy becomes isolation. The familiar darkness returns wearing a different face, carrying a different name, but persists in prodding at the “why” of life.
This piece is an intimate reflection on suffering, repetitious pain, and the uneasy possibility that what keeps returning may be presenting lessons yet unlearned.