Swallow the Sun by EranFowler
Empty ∅
It’s all I think about you. (SEE ALL SLIDES)
Says the red. Says the blue.
On my most sore sides.
We may be aware that there are many different sides in each of us. Sides that others may or may not see. Sides that are known or unknown even to ourselves.
But this is not the story about all our different sides. This is a story about how our different sides can be at odds with each other.
How they can despise each other.
Despise.
It's a word that can prevail between Sadness and Anger.
That's how it is for me. And maybe for someone else too. Therefore, we may be caught between the war of red and blue.
Sadness is my blue side. The side of me who wants me to be vulnerable. The side of me who fears the world. And who gravely, desperately wants and needs to be loved. Because when we look through the blue, we think that's what everyone needs. Even we, who feel like it's something we don't deserve.
Sadness wants me to understand the blue color of mine. Because that way, in my moments of weakness, I can be kinder to myself again.
That's what my Sadness thinks I need.
But Anger is my red side. The part of me that wants me to be strong. Who requires me to survive alone, because that's what the strong ones do. And with whom I don't want or need anyone or anything. Because when we look through the red, only the weak ones need another or anything.
Anger expects me to understand the red color of mine. For thus, with my red fierce and pride, my moments of weakness shall never touch me again.
That's what my Anger thinks I need.
But Sadness doesn't understand why Anger keeps poisoning me with mercilessness. And Anger doesn't understand why Sadness keeps poisoning me with weakness.
That's why they despise each other.
That is why there is an endless war inside me. Where Sadness weeps tears for Anger. Where Anger wants to burn Sadness to ashes.
Because these sides. And each side of us. Would do anything for our sake.
So that we could see through the color we need.
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Are some of your sides in conflict with each other too?
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As the story tells you, I have a conflict inside me. Perhaps it only exists between my Sadness and my Anger. Perhaps there are more sides of me that are at war, and I just haven't found them within myself yet. However, for me, the conflict between my Sadness and Anger is the greatest one within me. So great that I'm sure I've talked about it before. It's the one which gnaws my insides often and wears me down a lot.
The problem is not that my sides want anything bad for me. No. It's that they both only want the best for me. Because I, and each of us, needs our own sides. Because our sides are what make us who we are. Or, ultimately, they can teach us a lot about ourselves, allowing us to grow again.
Our sides know this. That's why they do everything for us.
That's why it's not that my Sadness and Anger want to make a battlefield inside me. They just don't understand each other. Therefore, they see each other as a threat to themselves. And above all for me. That's why they defend themselves and me.
I would like to be able to tell a way to end the war. To help myself and others. But I still, after all these years, haven't found a solution to it. Maybe it's just hard to grasp the issue, because it's hard to see the reason for this everything.
But on the other hand. If it were simple, I wouldn't be drawing or writing about this topic at all. Therefore, I can forgive myself about for not having the solution.
Furthermore, I also understand that even though my sides are fighting, I don't have to participate in the battle.
Maybe that's why I can't help but try to understand the conflict inside me. Parts of the pain it's causing. That why I always find myself in the middle of a fight. That why is there even is a war inside me.
Maybe that's why I just need to listen to the needs of both sides of me separately. And try to give them what they individually need.
It won't end the war. But maybe it gives me and my sides at least some kind of peace.
Unconditional love isn't a free pass to hurt me.
Gennady Aygi, from The Sunday Poem; “Silence” (translated by Sarah Valentine)
Text ID: to grow accustomed to silence / like the beating of one’s heart
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