“You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view. . .until you climb into his skin and walk around in it.”
Why do you run from me? Why do I hide from you? Why do we seldom find each other?
My reservoir for you must be so small . . . or the valve obstructed.
Why must I work so hard to muster you up? Why aren’t you smothered all over the memory of my mental muscles? Why don’t you overflow out of me like so many others I see who would sooner shrivel up and die than not extend you to another? Why does it take the slap of compassion by others to resuscitate you in my life?
I want more of you. I want to find the droplets of you inside of me and shake them up so they froth and overflow into everything I do. I want to give the excess of you over to others.
I want to stop thinking of myself. I want to stop seeing myself as others’ savior. I want to just start being. I want to stop trying to pull people out of their places. I want to climb down and sit next to them.
Being silent. Being present. Being still. Being love . . . without strings of condition attached.
Where do I start? Where are you hiding? How am I missing you?
Empathy, where can we find each other today?