“Don’t bend; don’t water it down; don’t try to make it logical; don’t edit your own soul according to the fashion. Rather, follow your most intense obsessions mercilessly.”

― Franz Kafka

 

Life is messy. We spend the lion’s share of our days trying to clean it up, wrapping it all in a pretty bow to present as unstressed as possible. The worst scenario is in showing the ugliness of it all, the dirt and grime that makes us human. There is never any way to avoid the mess, it is only in the mud when truths are told, and destinies revealed.

 

I tire of being constantly upbeat, writing as if all is meant to be and nothing happens without divine predestination. How false a perception and a blatant misdirection to believe such ideas. It is only in the murky and muddy depths that spirit is challenged. The darkness doing nothing to blind us from reality and all of its unbearable eccentricities.

 

Even standing in the company of great natural beauty, I am moved by the anguish and violence that created these enormous natural wonders. The depths of their dark waters run deep. In some cases, towns were washed away, entire peoples relocated, and life forms extinguished. We like to forget the messy parts, it makes it easier that way.

 

“The role of a writer is not to say what we can all say, but what we are unable to say.”

― Anais Nin

 

Why are we so uncomfortable with the mess? Why is it so difficult to find the words for someone who is grieving? When did it become taboo to say how awful it is to loss a loved one. No, it will not all be okay, no it was not for the best and no it will not get better with time. Scars fade but never really go completely away. Scars remain as a tattoo of the mess written on our hearts forever.

 

The same can be said for misfortune. Life can be ruthless at times. Financial ruin is not “karma” or required reading for life school. In reality financial difficulties are awful. Those who experience this misfortune are not unworthy of success. They did nothing wrong as some might point a judgmental finger. The way this world values the almighty dollar is a big part of the mess, and we all roll in this dirt over and over as if pigs to a trough.

 

In my utopian ideal emotions and feelings are valued and stoicism is not. Tell me if you are hurting, in pain or suffering. I may not like what I hear but say it anyway. I must be equipped with enough tools to take in another’s sorrow without condition. Only in this way am I swimming in my own murky waters and attempting to rise toward the air above. Tell someone your mess today and be unabashedly truthful. You may be surprised by the response.