If my pain might be shrunken and reduced so as to fit more compactly into a few seconds, rather than to hover as a shadow over every moment of my life, surely it would be a mountain. But alas, I have no edifice to which I might point and complain, and thereby earn the kindness and sympathy of my friends. Instead, when someone inquires as to my state, honesty demands that I disclaim any severe discomfort, for truly I am engaged in the emptying of a cauldron of suffering, one tiny spoonful at a time.
But still, I cry out...
