1. Sorrows, Joys, and Bullshit
First of all, there are the wounds, the traumas, and the irrecoverable losses. There are the children taken by the agents of government, the innocence taken by the hands of men, and the physical mobility taken by the front bumper and rear left tire of a careless driver. These wounds are the great sorrows. They are the ones that leave empty spaces on our insides and our outsides, where parts of our selves used to be but no longer are. Or, as is so often the case with deaths and dyings (for Death is not so much The End as our constant companion on the way there), they leave spaces inside of us filled with the presence of a person who is no longer with us bodily. Every day, you are present with me, but as an absence. Every day, I remember what I used to be able to believe, but believe no longer. Every day.
Second, there are the great joys. The moments of beauty that leave us breathless — waves smashing on rocks that send spray thirty feet into the air, the embrace of a lover, deer that come from the woods by the river and walk and stand and stare as though they are unafraid, and trees that remember and still sing of what there was to see before we were here. These joys are a balm upon our wounds. They are comfort in the midst of our sorrows. They are moments when we can rest or revel in these bodies that we are and that are, no matter how marked, still so very much alive.
First the great sorrows, then the great joys. Things go in that order. When we are hurt we awaken to the world as a place into which we have been thrown — a place that is foreign and alien and Other. Consciousness — of the kind that arrived all those years ago when a man and woman ate from a tree called the knowledge of good and evil — begins here. But it doesn’t stop there because, when we are loved, we learn that we can also call this world good. So first the great sorrows and then the great joys.
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