Sculpting the Pain

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We must not refuse to experience this life. We must agree to live. Death must be reminded of its having been refused.

The uniquely precious agony of each and every moment challenges my will to survive, and I will choose to take small bites, and to chew carefully, precisely as I am able and strengthened to become now more and more a fully and freely manifesting facet of God’s own personality in this broken, screaming universe. I will participate in the scream in such a way so as to bring attention to the fact that it cannot have my soul. I do not give my consent. I will accomplish that which I was set up to do, and the darkness will die in the end. Light break forth. Rainbows emit softly from every pore. Phantasmagoria gives way to a calming rhythm of peace and tranquility. The waters of time lap gently up against against the shores of each thought, eroding the jagged edges and creating smooth, graceful lines. This too shall pass, and I shall have been the better for all of it, no matter what it feels like right now.  

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