After a good birthday, my mind turns to Depth Perception. It's strange that I find such beauty, such peace, in something so tumultuous, so dark. But then I recall the story's intent, and I understand. It is a novelization of how I write, of my worldview, of the beautiful reaching out from the black. Solace in the midst of chaos. The dark pierced by a foreign, impossible light. That lone star in the sky at night. The Distant Bright.
And so I find a strange beauty in words I wrote last week:
"The deafening cacophony continues to rage silently around us."
And it's true. It is the eye of the storm. It is an immeasurable peace and incomprehensible strength in the midst of such horror that I could not previously conceive.
She has been wounded, overwhelmingly, inconceivably, irrevocably. I rage, and I weep, and I can only hope I can provide some light to combat all the dark seeking to consume.
This other, she has lost a loved one, and I can do nothing but hurt for her from afar.
Another, lost to her own demons.
It breaks my heart to think of these things, but I wouldn't have it any other way, because I know my heart is in the right place. If I could get by without feeling any of this pain, it would be from a callous I do not ever desire. Empathy is a difficult gift, its strength found in weakness. I ache, but I welcome it, and find my day not reduced in the slightest from such pain. And I praise the Lord that I am capable of loving so much that I would weep for others, when it would be so much easier to turn away. It's strange, this welcomed pain, this desire to endure for another. I can not fully comprehend it, but it is overwhelming, and I can not even begin to deny it.
It comes time to listen, to support, to offer my strength, and I find I have more than I even imagined. I can endure so much, but only when it is for another. A strength not my own. I find myself calmed, my own problems gone, and I can offer so much more than I had prior. A peace overcomes me in those dark moments such that I don't understand. I hold them, and love them, and in the midst of everything being so wrong, it feels right. I hold them. It is just the other and I.
And the deafening cacophony continues to rage silently around us.
And it's eerily beautiful.
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