The Burden Of Happiness Can

Nothing Ever Fits The Palm So Perfectly, Or Feels So Right, Or Inspires So Much Protective Instinct As The Hand Of A Child

The Truth Is That The Man I Am Was Born In Those Moments, As I Stood Near The Flood Sticks With My Face Lifted To The Chrismal Rain. Shantaram. The Better Man That, Slowly, And Much Too Late, I Began To Be.

While I Was Chained To A Wall And Being Tortured, I Realized, Through The Screaming Of My Mind, That Even In That Shackled, Bloody Helplessness, I Was Still Free: Free To Hate The Men Who Were Torturing Me, Or To Forgive Them. It Doesn't Sound Like Much, I Know. But In The Flinch And Bite Of The Chain, When It's All You've Got, That Freedom Is A Universe Of Possibility. And The Choice You Make Between Hating And Forgiving, Can Become The Story Of Your Life.

Slowly, Desolately, The Fist Of What We'd Done Unclenched The Clawed Palm Of What We'd Become.

If Fate Doesn't Make You Laugh, You Just Don't Get The Joke.