You can cry without crying. You can die without dying. You can live without living.
What woman has not found life so hard, so hurtful, that she cried herself to sleep without a sound, without shedding a tear? It can be done. It releases pain and sorrow, muffled in a pillow so no one will ever know. She keeps her happy face for others in the daylight.
What woman has not died without dying? Her insides are like wet cardboard. Useless. Lifeless. Ignored. Abandoned. All sparkle gone. Nothing right. No answers to mounting concerns. Troubles have taken over her being. She is not herself. For all intents and purposes she is dead.
What woman has not lived a life of getting up, quickly dressing, getting everyone’s breakfast, doing endless duties, solving problems, going to work, picking up kids, making dinner, washing clothes, cleaning house, paying bills, helping a neighbor or community, serving husband and children without a moment for herself, without doing whatever living she passionately loves (perhaps making music, art, writing, reading, hiking, creating a thing of beauty, inventing a spectacular recipe, playing a whole day with her children uninterrupted, taking a luxurious bath, making love with her husband, watching a hummingbird for more than a few seconds, running in a field with her beloved dog, sitting by the fire with a good book–a cozy cat in her lap…..) until she drops exhausted into bed far too late for tomorrow’s early alarm clock?
If we are honest, all of us is the right answer to each of these questions. All of us have been there, done that. All of us deserve a way out of despair. Will we find it? I only know one way out: to love.
You can cry without crying. You can die without dying. You can live without living. But you can’t love–or be loved–without loving.
About the artwork: Once lovely and useful, this old car abandoned in a remote Cape Cod field caught my attention, its rust and aqua color beautiful.