There is something more, something beyond, something larger, if only we can allow our suffering souls to embrace the worst of our pain and then live on through it to the other side. There is something bigger even than death, a belonging that transcends the worst the world can dish out.
And from that second firing the potter cracks the kiln open seven days later with her chisels, removing the graceful vase, tortured twice by fire after fire. Suffering is like that fire. We are lied about. We are betrayed by the shallow, the silly, the frightened. We are diagnosed. We are operated on. We are bullied. We are whispered about. We are manipulated by power. We are exposed to so much suffering. We regret. We grieve. We envy. We betray our best selves. And we suffer.