Striking the Well of Compassion 8/29/14

Sometimes I have the stunning, humbling revelation how unaware I am of other people´s suffering. I drift through my existence, thinking everyone is fine, like some innocent fool. Today, what is probably obvious to everyone, hit home with me, that is, that most of the foreigners or many of them are suffering horribly with spider bites, loneliness, health issues, frustrations, relationship issues, financial, etc. and most of us really hardly know what we are doing. But we hate to think that or admit it, that thought is too scary to confront.

Some of us are carrying a heavy load.

However, being here in this glorious valley, we can also feel like, maybe we do know what we are doing, and that this was a wise choice, just to have gotten here. But once you are here, if you are not looking for land or a place to rent, then what do you do? Try hanging out at all the cafes and restaurants talking to all the friendly people. Be social. Maybe you will make a friend or two. This applies more to single people. Couples can just go and do their thing together wherever, most likely, at home. They can fight, make love, fight, make love, etc.

In the meantime everyone is suffering deeply. Almost everyone. Maybe I am too shallow to suffer so deeply. Although it seems everyone is super sensitive when it comes to the pain that they are feeling. Somewhere, somehow I have trained myself not to suffer so much, hence my obliviousness to others.

My official slave name, Tom Osher means innocent happiness in hebrew. My parents didn´t know that when they named me, its just an incredible coincidence. They didn´t even have the wisdom to name me Mofwoofoo. But I can forgive that oversight, being that they raised me to be magnanimous as hell, and I can even forgive my enemies, though I can´t help but see them as lost, lost, lost and there is the danger of me being paternalistic.

Interlude: And being the innocent fool that I am, life with its tragedies bubbling over, inundating the fields that I could lay in or plant my seeds, with the relentlessness of spiders, trying to trap me, I rush to avoid them, screaming bloody murder, breathless, I pause for a cake and a coffee and a quiet but intense conversation at the Juice Factory.

Alone, again I rest up against a wall, deep in some dark, lonely alley, my heart pumping, I am lost, I have no where to go. I want to cry, but I can´t. Nobody knows who I am.

Getting back to the realization of my obliviousness to the suffering of others, it seems like deja vu. I have had this kind of realization before. It always humbles me. You can imagine that I fly too high sometimes and have to crash into one of those absurdly high mountain peaks that stick right through the clouds, that you might see if you look out the window at the right moment when you are flying over Ecuador, I mean it is obvious that sometimes I just get carried away with myself. I am sure that I am not the only one.

Beneath the burden, that each one carries, like brave little ants or Sisyphus of old, is a valiant, courageous, soul, choosing not to lay his burden on others and masking his effort with a smile and a joke, confiding in those he trusts, or perfect strangers, or no one at all, until it seems too much and he cries for help or suddenly collapses. This is the way of the world when you dive below the surface and compassion wells up like an oil strike and cannot be contrived.

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