Enough Violence

I don’t feel able. Not at the moment.

I don’t feel able to write. To eat. To do anything. To move from this couch. Even to smile.

It took the wind out of my sails to look at the number of Twitter “Followers” I have.


As if my value as a living being can be defined by my number of “Followers,” the tidiness of my home, size of my bank account, or the shape of my ass. And it strikes me that if I am feeling defined by those numbers and categories, then I must be defining you by those things, too.


J.Krishnamurti asked, “Isn’t comparison a form of violence?”

It kills you. It just kills you. Or me, anyway. It kills me. Crushes me. Crushes my ideas of being or doing something great. Or even something good. Or even just doing.

Yes, I say. Yes. Most definitely. Comparison is violence. Against the self and against others. It cuts. Burns. Obliterates. It decimates, with it’s judgment.

Whose is better? Who has more? Who’s been doing it longer? Who was paid more?

I feel lost in blankness. And it follows me.

Not good enough. Not fast enough. Not young enough. Not beautiful enough. Not tidy enough. Not clever enough.

Just plain not enough.

Not enough.

I have typed it eight times now. Enough. And now nine. It looks strange. “Enough.” The word has mutated in my vision to become a meaningless sequence of characters. Six shapes arranged just so. Making a word I have used many times in my thoughts, and aloud, to describe myself. And to describe others.

E — N — O — U — G — H

Could it be that the lack of meaning that happens when we say, write, or type a word over and over and over reflects the lack of meaning a word can actually and truly convey about someone? About me? Or you?


How can someone be not “enough”?
Enough for whom? Enough for what? And who determines enoughness?

Just as the word “enough,” repeated so many times becomes a muddy alphabetic mixup, so the concept of “enough,” becomes a meaningless mashup of comparison. Of violence. Against myself. And against others.

If I am here, and I am here, typing this, thinking this, then what about me is not enough?

And if you are here, breathing, seeing, reading, then what about you could possibly be not enough.

I say, I am enough. I say you are enough. We are enough.

Enough said.

One thought on “Enough Violence

  1. We exist in constrained worlds, wanting to do something big. Small comforts help the day and are enough, or all we get. Your writing is good, I like the thoughts and the flow of your prose. Also enjoy your tags of angst and hope.


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