unity consciousness is pretty rough right about now

Today I continue to be broken. It's been a while.
Interestingly, I started to cry while I was washing my hands in front of my bathroom mirror, and somehow stepped outside myself and saw what maybe one of my friends would see. My rosacea was calmer than usual, my eyes were bright green like they are when I'm emotional, and my hair was gently purple grey amidst the brown, straighter than usual because it was slept on for too long. My eyes filled with tears and I thought, huh, poor baby, you're so sad still.
And the feeling I had a few years ago, that bit of compassion deeply felt for someone I care about but can't help, for someone that doesn't 'deserve' to be sad, who is just as special and not-special as everyone else, and who really worked hard and failed, arose.
I put my (now clean and dry) hands on my face and sort of hugged myself. While the tears spilled out and my face got ugly. But I could see still, underneath, as well as superficially, a person who learned how to love deeply quite recently, and was cast aside. A person who watched her mother die sad and lonely and grasping for love from outside reality. A person who's lost all her parental figures so far, to dementia, cancer, a religious cult, and misplaced blame. A person who's had every male parental figure and partner in her life she tried to love decide she wasn't worth their time. No one ever wanted to claim her as part of their family, their life.
A person who is therefore free, very privileged, with a job that might allow her to help a few people sometimes.
My best friend asked me yesterday (yes, there are three women who continue to be my reasons for living) what I'm going to do about this feeling of darkness I can't seem to shake. And I don't think there's anything I can do to change it. I'm seeing reality and it isn't good, and no medication or mushroom will stop wars, famines, environmental destruction, or even just people being selfish jerks to each other. I feel every day how we are all one. It just lets me see how everything is logarithmically building to a chaotic end.
Maybe all I can do is learn to be more skillful at seeing and functioning better in the dark.

life after death

You used to complain about your weight, then eat ice cream before bed.

You wouldn’t open up when you were upset for days, then a trigger would send you at me suddenly, howling in terrifying rage that made no sense to me.

You didn’t trust your body since it seemed to betray you so often, and had no tolerance for pain, resisting it and distracting yourself instead of taking better care.

You were so afraid of me being hurt that any small thing would send you into a panic over me, instilling a deeply etched pattern I keep trying to shake off.

Your black and white thinking alienated so many people, and your certainty kept you closed off and ashamed of your own choices, your misplaced guilt a shark-filled moat around you.

You wanted to connect so badly that your intensity backfired, leaving you mostly alone.

Your own brother barely knew you…

Your father blamed himself for so much, not because he did treat you badly when you were young, but because of his choices in women…

Your mother lied to you about why she was so depressed and angry, and after she died you wished you could speak with her.

And I realize, all at once, that all these things, so directed at you, so angry at you, so judgmental of you, voices repeated by my mind over the years, can also be said at many points, completely, truly, about me.

And also.

Your sense of humor was excellent, and we would make each other laugh until we couldn’t breathe.

You tried hard to exercise, to eat healthier food, and enjoyed small adventures.

You loved philosophy, archaeology, old movies, music, science fiction, and poetry.

You thought you had a good answer for how to make the world a better place.

You loved to sing in other languages.

Music moved you, could make you cry, or motivate you to dance awkwardly around the living room.

You had a gift for seeing into me, understanding what really motivated me, who I was, solidly, reliably, predictably, underneath the roiling emotions that constantly disturb my surface, and your advice and love were deep.

Your relationship with grampa got much better over time.

You understood your mother so much better after she died, and although that was painful, it was helpful too.

All these things are also true for me.

No suffering is ever unconnected.

No connection is ever without effect.

Letting go of certainty and blame,

the innocence of interdependent arising 

can begin to be seen to illuminate existence.