We’re all made of Mud

Sometimes life pulls us into the forest to wander and find ourselves again. Then life shoves us to the ground. Then life makes it rain. Hard. For ages. Until we can’t separate our tears and mucus from the mud.

Sometimes we need to be one with the mud, to get a first-hand experience that life can suck, that the world can be cruel. Times like these make us.


When we see others go through something similar, we know. We feel them. We speak with our mouths closed, but with eyes wide open –

“I know every grain in the mud you’re in right now. I know that ground soft and hard. It’s gonna be tough. Tougher. Until it’s over.

Aren’t we all made of the same mud?”

Nobody gets away with it. Nobody gets a free pass. We can’t always do something to help each other, either. Sometimes the best thing we can do is to be a witness. Through this witnessing, we feel less alone, more compassionate and somehow, whole again. More human. More awake.

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