it becomes clearer why my lama wanted me to archive everything. re-reading the last period of time, even the smallest part of it, reveals something to me that brings a shuddering flinching sob.
the things i am angriest about with others are the things i struggled with most in myself.
stars. i hate irony. and oh it loves me so.
the very things i rail about are the things i am now miserably and hesitantly admitting to myself.
do you know how hopeless that feels?
worst of all, in this moment, seeing all of it as something not hated in others but hated of myself and thus, reacted to so strongly in others, who are reflections of myself… i just despair for all the ways i have hurt others, harmed them, in the name of trying to kill in them something i haven’t even acknowledged in myself.
is this the way? am i standing in the weeds again? i don’t know. i never know. all i know in this moment is sorrow. how pathetic am i. so ignorant. will i actually remember this? will i do more than see it briefly?
the weird part is, it doesn’t hurt to look at it. but it hurts to know all the hurts that come from it. if that makes sense.
and it hurts to know i can’t undo those hurts. not for me. for all the many others.
how many others do i want to hurt? none. never. i swear it.
what does it take to learn? am i learning now? will i ever?