when he yells at those he loves and believes that all is lost. Suddenly, I am weeping and my chest is in a vice-grip of pain.
The scene changes and George is in his living room after seeing the world as it would have been without him. He is ecstatic even before the townspeople surround him with love and the cash that solves his problem. My tears and pain gain momentum; I am thankful I'm in the back of the room. This wave of grief puzzles me and I try to find its source. The only thing that comes is: mother.
Do you love me?"
healing for the wounds. It's all there … thorns and bandaids … with no signs that say, "Try this; it will make you feel better," no instruction booklet included. Was that an oversight?
The other night I listened to a reincarnated Buddhist master talking about the path of the bodhisattva which, as I understand it, includes a vow to relieve the suffering of all sentient beings. Perhaps that's the instruction manual, period. In this time when purpose and meaning seem to be so illusive, maybe that's all we need to know. Perhaps all of us are here simply to learn to love, care for, and reduce the suffering of ourselves and our fellow travelers. There are a lot of ways of doing this so it probably doesn't matter which form we choose as long as the intent to help others is part of it.
Of course, that still doesn't explain why we've been thrown into a world that guarantees that we will be wounded but does not guarantee that we will be healed. Maybe we've chosen to come to this theme park where we can either ride the roller coaster screaming and shouting in fear all the way until we stagger off rubber-legged and delighted, or walk about as an amused but unengaged sightseer until the park closes and we go home to sleep.