Don't dream, when you can't make it real. They're only fictions anyway - Moddi, A Sense of Grey

Dance, when you're broken open. Dance, if you've torn the bandage off. Dance, in the middle of the fighting. Dance in your blood. Dance, when you're perfectly free - Rumi

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Oct 24, 2011

Woe To Him Who Believes In Nothing

Loss: The state or feeling of grief when deprived of someone or something of value. This is how one of the many dictionaries on the internet defines loss.
The thing is, you'd think that once you've dealt with a really big loss, nothing can phase you. You imagine yourself as immune to any feeling of pain and suffering around you. You think that you've lost something so valuable that now, no pain can be greater, no event can now hurt you with as much raw intensity again. And you feel an almost divine power in that. You figure that maybe that's your saving grace. 
And then, to remind you of how human you really are and how terribly weak your shield of resistance really is to agony and misery, the universe deals you another hand of bullshit. 
Today I found one of my stray cats terribly injured. I don't mean "limp-in-the-leg" kind of injured. I'm talking skinned,bone revealed, body rotting kind of injured. I mean, I can't even imagine what could have happened for it to be so severely and gruesomely mutilated. I could smell its rotting flesh. I still can. Since it was Sunday night, there wasn't much we could do. We just wrapped it up in cloth and lay it down. I tried to feed it, but I guess she's beyond that now. 
I don't understand though. What lesson is to be learnt here? In other things that have happened, I get it. But this was just a poor little animal and for it to die so painfully. Dad says the point of these things is to remember to praise Allah even though you can't understand. It is a test of your faith in Him. To not denounce or question Him when stuff like this happens. But right now, faith is the hardest thing for me to keep. I watched this kitten being born, watched it grow up. I used to feed it every night. Every time I came home from somewhere, it would be at the gate, waiting to be scratched or fed or just some sort of acknowledgment. Now, its lying on the floor, rotting to death and I can't even have it put to sleep because its too damn late in the night to call on the vet. 
But doubt is worse. It is a pain more lonely than the difficulty of keeping faith. 

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