When the heart’s tap root hits pain, angels cry. Do you feel it? Do you feel them, something, somewhere, swirling, moving, circling the soul as the root draws up pain watering the heart making it swarthy and bruised?
Some people, some personalities cannot get away from the pain. It’s not that they don’t deal with their own. They do. It’s that some can’t get away from other’s pain.
Sometimes out of the blue it can hit you, in the store, watching TV, hearing a story, understanding what has happened. The person’s pain, both shown, and even more intense, the hidden pain, grabs hold with a dry ice-cold grip burning the very beats of one’s own heart.
It can’t be explained with words, for words don’t express it. Letters can’t convey it, and the alphabet becomes nothing more than scissors on the tongue. You can’t get out what has gone in.There are a select few, very few, who get it. Maybe they have a rare personality. Maybe they’ve experienced such personal trauma, such intense pain that they will always be raw where reality rubs. I don’t know.
I do know it never goes away, not completely, not ever. Even in the laughter there is that deep well tapping into a river of tears that runs far below the conscious thought. I wish it were not so. It would be so much easier to just walk by, forget it, ignore its existence and pretend it’s never there. It is, however, always there.
Some well-meaning people say it’s depression. It’s not, but it can feel the same. Some say it is all in the mind. It’s not. Not this. It’s in the heart. Some say the insights it gives a person at the time is well worth the agony, yet those say that don’t experience the deep sadness of feeling doves weep and angels tears dripping in their soul.
I would trade it away, if I could. I try to erase it but the pencil is sharpened on both ends. It just makes it darker to resist and grinds in ink like getting a tattoo by a butter knife.
It comes so unexpectedly at times. Maybe in the store you simply observe someone and all of the sudden it feels like a stranger’s entire life pain is placed on your shoulders.
You may not even know them. They never said a word and leave, but their pain lingers. You sense it. You know it like it was your own. You know what they feel and can’t shed it. An inside sponge involuntarily absorbs their pain, and if you try to remove it by squeezing, more pain results from squeezing a spongy heart.
On the surface, this makes no, or little, sense, unless…unless you too have experienced it.
Is it a blessing? Or curse? If a blessing, then I want to curse the blessing. If a curse, then I want to use it to bless others.
It’s a tangled web when you feel angels crying, when you unwillingly feel the pain of others. You want to just fade away, to be quiet and still until the internal, very real, but internal pain storm clouds and crippling lightning strikes pass on by.
Why have Thee, oh Potter, why have You made such?! Why can it not just be feeling the gentle ride on life’s waters instead of requiring one to feel other people’s painfully deep dives to the dark ocean floors?
Leave, you crying angels! Remove your drowning tears! Pick up your randomly plucked feathers! Weep elsewhere!
…but crying angels…cast not your tears on those with wobbling legs. Lay not your feathers on the wounded, trembling hearts barely beating. Add no further burden to the lost, broken soul seeking hope, nor drip those tears on a desperate mind simply trying to make it through the day.
If the tears of mankind must be rained on human kind, then I relent, and accept, but only those angel tears, no more! Please, no more!