We would rather feel than know what causes the feeling.
Like a wound: it bleeds, but we don't know—or don't want to know—where it is bleeding. We simply feel the pain.
We talk about our pain when someone notices the blood and asks what happened.
And then we answer, with a kind of cowardice:
— You don't know how I feel.
We hide behind our pain like someone raising a shield.
Pain becomes an excuse.
We don't have to explain what caused it. We only have to show that we are suffering.
It is like the religious person who speaks of laws and hides behind their god to justify their own prejudice. They don't have to confess what they really think. The law speaks for them. God speaks for them. Morality speaks for them.
Both confess something.
But neither confesses what truly matters.
One shows the wound so they don't have to say why it is bleeding.
The other shows morality so they don't have to say why they hate.
Both find a shield in something that should be nothing more than an explanation.
Because sometimes, we would rather have our pain acknowledged than have the truth that causes it discovered.
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