Attention is love. A tiny dollop of non-pressuring, unconditional love that we rarely get once we are no longer little children. Some people never got it even when they were little children.

As we grow up, we come to believe that that kind of love is no longer possible. We fall into entrancement trying to get it, make up movie scripts in our minds, making bargains with "God" or "Fate" that if we do xyz, we will be loved again. It doesn't really work, of course, and the "love" that we get in these cases isn't real, because it came with conditions attached. And, somewhere deep down, we know this, and it makes us anxious and fall even deeper into entrancement.

This is the human condition.

So, since we are all living out these hidden anxieties, secretly yearning for love, we often don't pay enough attention to each other. We talk, but at cross purposes. We interact, but who are we interacting with? The person before us, or the fears and doubts in our own heads?

If you think about this, perhaps you'll come to realize: everyone could do with a bit of real attention, that expects nothing, that only wants to know without judgment and to hear. You're helping them by giving them a tiny bit of unconditional love. So long as you give no more than what you can easily afford, it's a step closer to becoming your true self.

"It's a long journey to Babylon, dear heart. What songs shall I sing, to wile away the time?"

Understanding.

Life is change.

And pain is the price we pay for transformation.

Outcome.

6 of Swords.

Another night, another ship, and after some swift entanglement, we pass the other by.

There have been too many nights, too many ships, too many moonless darkness unleaven by stars. Mine is a but a fragile skiff, adrift in the breeze. I roil to the slightest turbulence, the merest wave; I am in constant fear of capsizing.

And come the others, hulking liners, pulling me into their wake, unwilling. I, who am happiest sailing my lonesome, can only close my eyes... and hang on.

O, if there are gods and they have mercy, they will grant me a space in the safe harbors. Else, let me loose upon the wild ocean, and watch me sail into the sky!

She said.

If you love something, set it free. If it comes back to you, it's, well...broken.

-- Debi, Grosse Point Blank

What if.

Were I to throw in my lot with a broken wounded bird, tattered and beautiful, yet still striving to fly... Would I share its joys in the wild blue skies, or be blinded by its erratic flight?

Were I to care for a stunted tree growing, its branches twisted, yet still able to flower... Would I admire the tender buds, or only see its painful scarring?

Oh, were I filled with the milk of human kindness, grace, understanding, and endless patience -- should I not know the answer already?

As it is, I am a cracked mirror, the tainted dove, a mere mortal who dreamt small dreams.

Only time will tell. As time tells everything, in time.

A thought

Sometimes, I wish I could disembody and fly away into the wind. This 4-cornered world would be filled by the faintest traces of me. I would then hide between the falling waters, and snake through the shifting sands, and linger by flowers that only bloom in secret places at night.

If I could do this, would my thoughts also stop? What peace that would be...

Edit: Looking at posts below, I seemed to have had this very same thought 2 years ago. Ha...