In case you were wondering, I have been participating in the robotic grind. The cookie cutter existence that is SoCal suburbia. I have my moments where I just want to write out my thoughts. In truth I will tell you my thoughts race at an infinite number of miles per minute. If I could record every thought, I would be the Black J.D. Robb or Stephen King, creating a 400 page novel in a day.
The paragraph above was a tangent. The soul of this post relates to this dis-ease called compassion. It is uncontrollable for me. Some see compassion as a virtue. A gift most people on earth strive to have- but in secret. For me, compassion is like an invisible fiber that finds its way to my eye after I apply my mascara. I don’t see it on the brush, but it exists. It adapts to me and I adapt to it.Yet a moment will arise when it becomes a huge inconvenience. So fine, it lacks visual existence. And it annoys me so damn much!
Compassion is a blessing in most instances. Like on those rare occasions when I am awake at 2AM watching only God knows what on TV. Then, out of nowhere, a commercial about abused animals comes on.I get choked up and tears swell in my eyes. I want to save every animal because it is my belief that no living thing should suffer. That is compassion. Reality says my apartment is small and so many animals would dominate my humble abode. I could endure homelessness. Then, who would have compassion for me?
But I digress. I am a writer who reflects on their crafted word, so I declare the first paragraph of this post is bullshit.
A few years ago, a woman learned in Reiki told me my level of compassion was overwhelming. She had to stop several times during my treatment because my level of compassion was “too much”. I remember crying and asking her how is it possible to care “too much”? If love is a choice, how is loving too much an option? I started to wonder if compassion was an affliction instead of a virtue. Based on my emotional intelligence I know what it is to be in a loveless existence. I know what it is like to go through life solo.
That shit is not fun.
As a result, I love hard. I love big. Love big or go home! When I am faced with the conflicts involving loved ones, I ask myself- what other kind of love is there? I suppose I am not emotionally intelligent enough to have an answer to that question.