stories within stories

 A beautiful bicycle ride brought peace to a day of unease after a night that lacked sleep. Tormented by a mix of work and life thoughts, I kept tossing and turning until I finally got up, poured some water, and started to research old conversations with people from the past. Haunted as always by the way in which people disappear. Each disappearance a story within itself… shame, pride, anger, hate, lack of interest, envy, resentment, or simply something else that comes along to prevent them for whatever reason from making any contact. The stories are buried before birth and remain untold. 

                  As we grow older, we often become less tolerant of those who we consider to have ‘foolish’ views or beliefs. Difference of political opinion, religious beliefs, views of marriage and children, renting versus buying, traditional family over unconventional lifestyles. It rarely makes sense to remain in contact with someone who has the completely opposite worldview to oneself. This is what can make work-life complicated as we grow older… it is the forced mingling of people who are completely different and, in many case, would never consider spending any time together if it weren’t for work. 

                  In the meantime, I question what it is within myself that currently renders me incapable of reading books in which characters are mistreated or neglected… any form of cruelty to animal or human brings me close to tears and, in many cases, I am unable to rid the image from my mind for a long time afterwards. And so many scenes of children suffering from so many things… whether it be parents fighting, poverty, war, aggressive anti-immigration tactics or hunger. It’s tragic. 

                  All we have is kindness and hope. 



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