our lady of perpetual sorrow

I think of our sister of sorrow, the keeper of pain and betrayal. She holds this pain with grace and beauty. She takes wound after wound, dagger after dagger. She delights in the pain because she understands that it makes her stronger. She is silently aware of all their wrongdoings. She allows it to exist in her space, a heavy blanket of darkness cast behind the horizon of her gaze. A single tear falls from her eye – a moment of weakness. She is overwhelmed by this sensation. It haunts her. The knowing haunts her. To pick from the tree of knowledge is to subject yourself to a life of torment and suffering. But what happens when we spot the fruit we must bear and do nothing? You let it fester and ferment until it rots and plunks down to your feet. Its rotted juices seep into your shoes and stick to your skin. Though you walk away committed to your ignorance, the juices of truth stick to you and the steps you take. These juices leave a trail in the dirt, showing others where you go to hide. You can’t hide now. You know, and now they know.