! ! Whose Tears?

I don’t cry. Not floods of tears cry. The eyes moisten, but, It’s the rest of it…: the chest heaves unsuppressibly, as if it would leap out from the body's confines... it’s all beyond control; ‘sob’ isn’t the right word because it’s all silent. It never used to be like this; now – well, I’m too embarrassed to tell you everything that sets it off.. just think ‘sentimental’… except that it’s quite without those personal thoughts like, what a cute puppy, I can feel for her, how I’d be proud to be him right now… athletes of any sport or any nation ascending the podium while their strange national anthem plays… and it’s a sure bet; anyone who fulfils themselves, achieves something which makes them clearly proud… triumph over adversity, over handicap; the Paralympics - have you noticed, they're the most quietly satisfied of winners? the shining eye of someone who's given from the heart... or someone who's received that gift... sometimes the perfection of a sung phrase, its subtle timing, the emotion kernelled in a single note… the first notes of those hymns they sing when heroes finally are laid to rest… or a convincing love story – no, I won’t give you the names – or a moment of some unexpected truth which speaks of something far beyond… even a silence, an unfocussed presence that holds some revelation yet unformulated; only recognised.. I have this strange, beloved stranger in my shaking chest, a law unto itself, which doesn’t ask for my consent before the convulsions start… in a way, it’s quite reassuring: something within me, announcing its independent life; something capable of being stirred; and when it stops its heaving, here’s the best part: then, it’s gone – no thought to smear the mind, no mood to coddle or indulge.. it came; it went; so pure, so clean; best to give it no attention, let it live its life without my interference; it’s asking nothing of me but to love its freedom; watch it be itself.