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The Sorrow and the JoyI guess it's part of the elegance of life's design that we realize simple truths in simple ways that make us grow. It is sometimes while performing the most mundane activities that they confront us.
I was walking along my regular route today and, for whatever reason, it dawned on me that life is a measure of sorrow and a measure of joy. We carry them with us into the world, a pole across our back, each one in a vessel suspended from either end. Balanced, the load is easy. Carrying them promotes health and the contents of either vessel are necessary for life, just like water. You can share them with people along the way, pouring out and receiving a little of both and in this manner, the contents of our vessels are never stagnant.
I used to want to eliminate pain and sorrow from my life. I wanted a little, tiny sorrow-bucket. I wanted my way to be easy. Now I think what a childish notion it was. I don't want sorrow but if I don
Volpi.You will find that the story you tell
is very rarely your own. In Lucca,
even the smallest pebbles
breathe in the warm sunlight.
Knotted stones and cobbled roads
beat out a paper-dry heartbeat heat
my city breathes in and out,
inhales sparrow air.
It's writing a story.
You are the pen.
You will find that in Lucca
the daisy chains forge fire
in side streets and back alleys.
Teenagers intertwine. Tell me,
odd flower, are you still closed?
Here we are colored wax;
the heat of the city melts us.
We run into each other, rhapsody
of pigments. Operas are our specialties.
Open up; feel the reds.
If not, try and see them. There is a place
of deep knife marks, a street
long as midnight
you may learn something there.
Valentina's voice glimmers like red wine.
You may enjoy intoxications. Still,
know alcohol has no story
and will swallow your own.
Find the sign with the wolf on it.
You'll know the place. Epiphanies ring true as church-bells.
Lucca still guides the wanderers
to well sp
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