Crying Out (Loud)

Slide the crying toddler aside with one hand and with the other stroke his hair, saying, “Look! See there!” and pointing at a yawning cat to distract him from the stacks of shattered plates and broken bowls. Show the boy a songbird singing or a crystal raindrop falling from a cotton cloud, hanging down from a string of silk, skillfully gathered long ago by his grandmother’s hand, but he can’t know how gnarled they have become, laid to rest alongside the remained of a mind, blown away bit by bit on a wind she can’t even feel. Don’t tell the baby he’ll one day wither. Don’t show him the underside of your tongue or the wild red behind the whites of your eyes. Time will make him see the veins and scars of living soon enough, time will bring to bear the teeth that slowly gnaw him down to a stump like you or me. So, let him fight now, cry if he wants, but do not let him see yet what he truly fights against, why he truly cries. Just hold him now and stroke his hair, saying, “Look! See there!” at a worm on a tree, to distract him from what will be.
Tell me all your thoughts on God, and tell me am I very far?…

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