Today I feel heavy in all meanings of the term. But Milan Kundera doesn't lie, and despite my feelings of significant weight I cannot escape the fact that my existence in unbearably light. Being is hard sometimes; getting on can be stiflingly painful. But at the end of the day we must all come to terms with the fact that at any moment this arduous task can permanently be taken from us. Our lightness is in our mortality and our humanity, it is in our desire to help others and it is in our fleeting breaths. Yet the things that make us heavy try their best to hide our true, airy nature.
Even a heavy sky is unbearably light in the end--spilling over the tops of solid mountains like water in a bowl with insubstantial walls.
Cheer up. It'll get better. Just as those clouds cleared to form a sunny blue sky
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