If ya wanna know a man,
Watch how he treats an abandoned, angry, scared, flea-bitten, sad-eyed, mangy mutt.
Feel free to substitute any living thing in place of the word mutt, then extrapolate what becomes of those who’ve been hurt, abandoned and mistreated. Anger is the child of hurt. To be disconnected and made to feel invisible leads to a masked rage. It may erupt at anytime, at anyone, for seemingly no reason——-but there are reasons!
He sits there, motionless on a bench in the deserted park, late January——the cruelest of months nestled within the dark soul of winter. Head stooped, glassy eyed, staring into the nothingness of an empty playground at 3:13am——there are reasons he sits here.
The courts, madhouses, homeless shelters, and prisons are full of those who’ve been denied love. Technology has given us more ways to communicate, but the best we can do is send silly faced emoji’s to communicate our feelings.
When he cried no one came to hold him. When he was hungry no one came to feed him. No one comforted him when he was frightened—– or showed up to chase away the boogie man hiding beneath the bed. There were no whispers in his ear telling him that everything is gonna be alright. The technical term for this malady is “failure to thrive”. What a stark definition——for someone left loveless. Without love all living things wither, curl up and cease to breathe. Love is the only nutrition to sustain ones soul.
Why are the ones most starved for love, the last ones to receive it? To have never known love is to be emotionally orphaned. Those that have never received love, will never know how to show love. We become the product of our environment. The surest way to kill a living thing is to treat it with Indifference. Neglect is worse than hate, it reduces living things to inanimate objects—As if broken people can be replaced, or dismissed as irredeemable, locked up and kept out of sight. We’ve become a disposable culture, with a throw away mentality. Our society will be judged by the way we’ve treated our old, our young and those most vulnerable.
The swings squeak in the chilly breeze, a raven lands on the monkey bars, frost clings to the silent blades of grass, clouds of steam rise from the duck pond. All is in waiting for the rising of a better sun.
If you have a love surplus, spread it around. You can’t keep it, unless you give it away.
Love is a holy thing.