The wound and the longing for the boundless dissolve into each other until you cannot find the seam where one ends. The injury you carry and your reach toward the transcendent meet on one degree of your chart and run as a single current: you seek the sacred through the sore place, you make art and prayer out of what hurt you. Your compassion runs oceanic because your own pain taught it no edges. People feel met by something in you that has clearly suffered and kept its tenderness anyway. The trap is letting the wound blur into a soft fog where you can no longer tell a real ache from a beautiful, comfortable sorrow.
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