The fundamental attribution error lives in the quiet places where we forget each other’s storms. I saw your silence and called it coldness, not the weight of what you carried. We’re always writing each other in ink too quick to dry. And still, I want to read you more gently.
Within the silent labyrinths of the psyche, there is a landscape memory not wholly our own, pulsing through us like the echo of ancient...
Namaste—the Messiah in me sees the Messiah in you. Not the polished, pious version, but the wild fire that walked among the forgotten. I...
We are told that Jesus wept, and from this we carve entire solemn theologies of grief. But where is the gospel that records his...