walking wounded

They sling uninformed arrows from empty quivers.

They find fault in everyone else but themselves.

They sting others quickly to prevent themselves from being stung.

They tend to see themselves repeatedly as the victim of someone else’s crime.

They fail to see kindness, compassion or joy. Or if they do see something even lightly tinged with grace, it is quickly taken over by a heavy grievance against someone or something.

So they walk and they wound. They tend to endlessly pick at and pester others, they control, complain, argue and hurt those around them.

 

Hurt people hurt people.

 

The walking wounded don’t want your pity. But they can’t stop others from empathizing with them and meeting them where they’re at.

When you encounter a walking wounded…

 

1. Don’t take it personally. It really is them and not you.

2. Have empathy because they are simply a result of their set of conditions.         They have been wounded.

3. As a form of self-care, distance yourself from their judgment.

4. Then, when you lash out to hurt someone, look, and notice the seed of your      own hurt.

5. Be grateful for the beauty and grace that is around you. 

6. And, when things get a little dark, light a candle and read some poetry…

 

Everything is Waiting for You

Your great mistake is to act the drama
as if you were alone. As if life
were a progressive and cunning crime
with no witness to the tiny hidden
transgressions. To feel abandoned is to deny
the intimacy of your surroundings. Surely,
even you, at times, have felt the grand array;
the swelling presence, and the chorus, crowding
out your solo voice. You must note
the way the soap dish enables you,
or the window latch grants you freedom.
Alertness is the hidden discipline of familiarity.
The stairs are your mentor of things
to come, the doors have always been there
to frighten you and invite you,
and the tiny speaker in the phone
is your dream-ladder to divinity.

Put down the weight of your aloneness and ease into the
conversation. The kettle is singing
even as it pours you a drink, the cooking pots
have left their arrogant aloofness and
seen the good in you at last. All the birds
and creatures of the world are unutterably
themselves. Everything is waiting for you.

Everything is waiting for you.

By David Whyte