The Eyelash Of The Soul (no. 11)

We blur our concepts within our language, don’t we? Calling a healthy response something sick and distorted. But jealousy, ladies and gentlemen... is the eyelash of the soul. A sensory reflex. A little biological curtain that closes before we can see what actually hurts. But nobody wants to look beneath the canopy. We all know that man at the office, halfway through the day. Watching someone younger climb a little higher on the pay. He smiles politely at the little celebration, But inside, oh sweetie, something boils with frustration! He calls the boss an idiot, the whole system a joke, Opening his jealousy umbrella across his desk like smoke! Covering the shame, covering the fear that quietly lives inside— Because if you stripped away his cutting words and his bitter pride, You’d find only an old man, standing in the cold, Afraid he’s grown too useless for this world to hold. And feel the rain falling through a lonely city. Is it evil? Is it malice? No, sweetie. It’s a secondary reaction to what truly hurts. ...Fold the umbrella. JEALOUSY IS MORE! IT’S AN UMBRELLA EMOTION! The upper, visible layer covering the ocean! We react with anger, accusation and defense, But the behavior beneath the canopy makes no sense! If you take away the umbrella, I’m still standing in the rain! Deconstruct the anger! Formulate the pain! We all know that woman sitting alone with the glow of a screen. Scrolling through vacations, perfect bodies she has seen. She spits cynical comments at everyone else’s joy, Calling them shallow, rolling her eyes like a broken toy. Her envy locks her inside a lonely, bitter shell, Judging everyone’s happiness from the ruins of her comparison-hell. But look beneath the fabric! There is no monster there. Only a wounded sense of never being enough or rare. Only grief for the life she fears she’ll never get to live. The old rusted lock has nothing left to give. The alarm is flashing. Regulate the nervous system. Behavior solves nothing! It only protects what once hurt too deeply. Shall we tear away the umbrella? Go ahead. Let’s stand here naked, fragile, and human. EYELASH MOD ALARM! CANOPY IN THE RAIN! FOLD THE FILES! REBOOT THE COLD CITY! I saw an old man sitting on a park bench, watching children play. They ran toward their parents; he had to look away. His face was folded by years of bitterness and spite, Muttering about spoiled mothers in the fading light. But his anger was just a shield protecting the child inside, Who never knew what safety felt like, who only knew to hide. We have to teach the body that the storm has already passed. Teach the heart that the alarm can grow quiet at last. The little eyelash... The eyelash of the soul... No longer needs to guard against every breeze. Not envy. Not hatred. Just an ancient reflex that lost its direction. Scar Clan! Ark Clan! Hit the rhythm! JEALOUSY IS MORE! IT’S AN UMBRELLA EMOTION! The upper, visible layer covering the ocean! We don’t need to hide beneath the fabric anymore! The puppets lost their strings, we are walking out the door! The little eyelash of the soul no longer guards against the breeze! The observation tower is dead! We see the storm. We feel the rain. And we remain. Then the rain can simply fall. And the heart can stay. Until the sun quietly finds its way... back home. Completely objective. Completely free. ...under the circumstances...