RECIPE FOR CRYING
Since I sincerely encourage you guys to cry, since I teach you to cry, I’ll tell you why and how I cry. Because once I get going, I cry at full throttle, I cry so much that the expression “sob your heart out” becomes literarily true. Once I start crying, I most often cry for love.
I cry in gratitude for the love, which was lavished on me in my childhood and I cry for the love, which I needed in my childhood and didn’t get. I cry with joy over having a son and I also cry because I have only one son. I cry for all the children of the world, who haven’t been born and even more for those who have and suffer. I cry for all those in the world, who didn’t get enough love. I cry for all the romances, which I never experienced and even more for those I did. I cry from the bottom of my heart because I hopelessly believe people and love them even if it’s illogical. I cry for all the dreams that did not come true. I cry for my insignificance. I cry because I’d like to be little again and have my big mum, who’d wipe my tears away. I cry for my mum, who is getting old and didn’t have an easy life at all and yet managed to bring up four children with a smile on her face. I cry for my dad, who died when I was little.
I cry for all the unhappy people of the world and more for those, who pretend to be happy. And I also cry because each happy moment will end so quickly. I cry for all the unfairness of the world. I cry because I’ll never touch God. I cry for all the decisions I’ve made and I cry for all the decisions I haven’t made. I cry for the earth, for the way we treat it. I cry for primitive tribes that we educate. I cry for all of the progress in the world because of which the elderly feel like drifters. I cry for all those dead and alive. I cry for loving people and I cry for human vulnerability. I cry for food I’ve burnt and I cry that there is no one to turn their nose up at it. I cry for getting old and having to die, I cry because my son will get old and die as will all the others I love too.
I cry for all adventurous trips – those small deaths when one says farewell to their certainties. I cry for the word home. I cry for all those for whom the word home means nothing. I cry because I will never understand the universe. I cry for all those mysteries which I will never solve. I cry for all the hatred, cruelty and animosity, which people wound themselves with. I cry because I and my friends have so little time for each other. I cry for cheap esoterics, for poor taste, failed work, burnt meals and messed-up destinies. I cry for myself, for you, for them. I cry because I and you at the same time mean them. I cry for God not being able to hold me in his arms and cuddle me.
Once I start crying, I cry for everything and everybody. Once I start, I cry at full throttle, I get my nightie wet, as well as the bed and the carpet. The tears join into a small stream and the small stream turns into a river which washes away all the pain, sadness and sorrow. I sit amidst this river and I let my soul be washed clean because I know that it is right down at the bottom where the compassion and love for myself are born. Only there will I ask myself outright: how can I give myself a boost? What can I do for myself? What do I really need at this point? And then the relief comes, because I know that this is the only place from where one’s self-confidence, something of an acceptance of oneself, stems.
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