I sometimes hate you. I hate you when I accidentally stumble upon someone's tragedy, and it rips me deeply instantly viscerally and there is nothing I can do but offer love, and stand in the midst of the sadness/grief that erupts from me, and the panic that comes up too, the selfish panic that says that could be me.
I wish loss on no one.
No one should lose a baby, a child, a beloved. No one should have to wonder if each day is the last one. I feel as if there is such an inherent unfairness in that. Such torture.
Ironically, I was going to write about my baby dreams, the ones where Bad Things happen. I was going to complain about it. Whine. Feel bad for myself publicly. I was going to ask the universe for those dreams to stop.
When here I am, the luckiest person in the whole world, having bad dreams.
Yes, bad, bad dreams where bad things happen.
But right now, someone across the world is living that.
And I am not.
So universe, I ask you, as the luckiest person in the world,
let me keep my luck
but send healing, however possible to that mother, that grief stricken heart,
send compassion, love
bypass my powerlessness and do something good.