angelbirdflies

Seek-sorrow I learned an ancient word today. Such a beautiful, sad word: Seek-sorrow. ​ There are those who, in their quest for reality, See only the wound, but not the healing skin beneath. They immerse in the infinite misery that besets us And cannot open ears or eyes to the speckled joys that also share our world. ​ The seek-sorrow frowns at delights And bids you furrow also. I know those who are so. Perhaps you do, too. ​ But may we not be beckoned By the small, clear, Autumn sky And the tide of leaves rushing towards us And the mourning dove’s strange, creaky-winged flight? ​ Are such glories to be ignored So that we may not distract from suffering? Perhaps there is room enough for both In our unbounded consciousness. ​ For, in truth, the sorrows need no seeking And neither do the joys.  by Olivia Hajioff

My son saunters to the car, shoulders bent, hair dyed an audacious red. He opens the passenger door and climbs inside wearing a metal spiked collar and leather jacket in June alongside the "F*** you" attitude of adolescence. As we drive I make bumbling, parental attempts at connection... "How was the day love?" "Don't therapize me mom." "What do you think about____?" "I don't know mom." My chit-chat is met with a slow, silent stare. I sit back in my seat and drive, filling the car with a quiet love and untangling my tension one breath at a time. After several miles he turns to me, phone in hand, lips curled with disgust and says, "We will pass the threshold for global warming between 2027 and 2042. The point of no return. That's in this decade." He shakes his head and glares out the window at the grass laden hills rolling by. I feel his anger and the pain beneath it. I feel it now as his mother, a human caug...