Can’t help but think
So many of us, in such proximity, struggling quietly, struggling in silence, struggling alone. Stoic, strong. Rock. Island.
Secretly praying for the same salvation, the same kind of paradise. Praying in a little shoe box, each of us stacked, one on top of the other. Stacked against the odds.
Will no one cut a hole in their little box? Let a little light fall in? Wriggle a little fat fleshy finger through. Just one touch seems enough to keep these times from being so tough.
Is it so wrong of us to find consolation in contact. Is it not a fundamental mammal need, without which the heArt and spirit dies?
I just can’t help but think, somehow we are missing the point?