One of my dreams is to become all things to every living person.
But what will it take for me, in my factory-made clothes and with unscarred feet,
to place my heart in the middle of someone else's country?
Will my own pursuit of life suddenly make more sense
by cramming other wayward journeys in the files of my head?
In becoming every story that mankind has ever known,
to do more than merely sympathize, but absorb the pains of others
in my fragile little bones, I make myself understand the difference
between pain and fear. Fear precedes pain always, and pain
is the breaking down of purposelessness. Pain is for those
without mandatory suffering to justify the story.
To become every experience, I must learn to carry love.
I must carry on in heaviness the carefully-chosen words
designed to latch on searching hearts.
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