The River Knows

Sacrifice is overrated.

Like, you did all of this and then you get a sharp slap on the face. Who cares, might be the response. So what, your choice. Nobody asked you.

No, nobody asked you.

Does it come natural to cancel yourself and elevate others, for the sake of love in all its manifestations? Probably not.

But women (at least mothers) instantly annihilate themselves in order to smooth the path for those in their heart, accepting, even welcoming, the present status as the doormat.

You cease to exist.   No desire, wish, passion, dream, lands in your mind and prepares to develop wings. They just dissolve – perhaps excruciatingly slowly – till the haze of their ephemeral passing becomes only a memory you instantly reject.

Beat me, kick me, enslave me, and I shall be silent.

Your existence is to be fulfilled by serving.

Your tears (the few that remain) need to be concealed, silently present only in the darkness of the night, or in an empty house. Or to blur your vision when you drive along familiar roads that only reinforce, with their powerful memories, the validity of your pain.

Suffering is beautiful, no?   It makes you worthy.

The pursuit of happiness doesn’t apply to everyone. Some have a more legitimate right to it than others.

Yes, sacrifice is overrated, but you allow your lifeblood to flow, generous and eternal, a river of love that expects no gratitude.

Go on and endure, you earthly saint, accept, allow, give, damn it, give till you’re sucked dry.

The world is indeed a valley of tears.

At least for some.

Enjoy the honor.


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