No one wants to cry. Yet tears trickle down the mountains of our unmoved emotion to fill up the lakes that reflect back to us those very mountains.

Emotion matters, even though I shouted a declaration to my son once that they don't. They do. They rule us. Yet we are to rule them, ultimately, until every whim of our cheeks, every flare of our fingers, every turn of the hair on our head, every piece of paper we pick up, every cough of our voice verging on cracking, carries them so - those emotions - with a solidified silence, embedded in our hormonal structure.

My cells feel them. The spirit-aura hovering over me may or may not be detected by those who visit me. But more than not, they know it - only without words - as I said, solidified silence, like ice-boulders trapped in a glacial fortress. They will melt. You may pick-axe them free or wait for them to melt on their own. Melt they will. 

I only know emotion when a tear forms... unknowingly, as if sunlight suddenly twinkled the ice loose.

If you could turn inside-out the pillow-case of anger, completely reverse the fabric of anger, the inner side reveals tears, covert creeks, flowing down the mountainside of resentment, graduating up the lakes in love.

Thank God for valleys and mountain nolls that gather the water of emotions. Water that shimmers back the ice-capped peaks. 

June 29, 2026  11:30 AM