The Weight of the World and the Light We Carry

"In Love We Trust—A Flame That Unites" - PC

The world events this month have been feeling super heavy and have really made me reflect on so many things. Today, I’m setting aside my usual focus on my personal healing journey because, in a way, I feel like the work I’ve done over the past five years is what’s allowing me to process all of this so deeply. Maybe this reflection is thanks in part to my inner healing work—just in a way I didn’t expect.

I have always felt things deeply—perhaps too deeply. I’ve mentioned before how my mother often accused me of being 'too sensitive.' And yes, at times, it has felt like a burden. I look at the world and see so much suffering, so much division, so much fear. And I can’t help but wonder—how did we get here? How did we, as a collective, allow the cycles of pain to repeat for so long that they now feel inescapable?

There is an anger in the air, thick like smoke from a fire that has been burning for generations. Some of it is righteous—anger at injustice, at cruelty, at the blatant disregard for human life. But some of it has turned into something else entirely—something harder, something colder. I see it in the way people speak to each other, in the way they assume the worst of those they don’t even know. In the way pain is met not with compassion, but with more pain.

People have become exhausted by hope. Somewhere along the way, many stopped believing in the possibility of change and started defending their own despair like a fortress. I don’t blame them. The world has been cruel. And yes perhaps, it’s easier to harden than to risk breaking again. Easier to lash out than to sit with the wound.

But I need to ask—does it feel any better?

Does the anger, the cynicism, the constant battle to prove who is more right and who is more wrong—does it actually ease the pain? Or does it only dig it deeper?

I’m not asking anyone to stop feeling angry. Anger is human. But anger without direction, without purpose, without a deeper reckoning of what’s underneath it (sadness, sadness is what's underneath all of our anger)—that’s what keeps us spinning in the same cycles that we say we want to break. That’s what keeps the world exactly as those in power want it to be—divided, afraid, too consumed by fighting each other to ever have the strength to fight for something greater.

And I don’t believe that’s what we truly want.

I have always envisioned a world without borders—not just physical ones, but the invisible ones we’ve built between each other. A world where no one has to flee for safety, where no one is forced to abandon their homeland just to survive. A world where all of our differences are embraced, where people can worship as they see fit but never impose, where pain is not weaponized but transformed into something greater.

A world where leadership is rooted in integrity, where we are not manipulated by fear, where work does not consume life, where community means something again. A world where no one is left behind.

Is that too much to ask?

Or is it simply too much for the ones who benefit from keeping us divided and in pain?

Because make no mistake—there are those who benefit from our exhaustion, apathy and cynicism. Those who profit from us being so overwhelmed, so busy arguing with each other, that we forget we have POWER. That we forget we are so capable of something better, something more.

And yet, I know how easy it is to feel powerless.

I know what it’s like to look at the state of the world and think, I’m just one person. What can I possibly do?  I know the weight of that thought, how it makes your limbs feel heavy, your hope feel like a joke. I know what it’s like to see cruelty and feel like kindness is a whisper in a storm, too small to make a difference.

But I also know that’s a lie.

The systems we live under have convinced us that humanity is too selfish, too flawed, too broken to create something better. But I refuse to believe that. I can’t believe that. Because even amidst all the darkness, I see the light in all of us, even on those that are currently hurting humanity—flickering, fragile, but there.

I see it in the kindness of strangers, in the resilience of those who still dare to hope, in the ones who refuse to let fear make them cruel. I see it in the artists creating beauty out of suffering. In the people who, despite their own wounds, choose to lift others up instead of tearing them down. I see it in the small, quiet moments of goodness that never make the news but matter just the same.

And that’s what keeps me from falling into the abyss of despair.

I know I am not alone in feeling this weight. I know many of us are carrying this same sorrow, the same longing for a different world, the same frustration of feeling powerless to change it. But I also know this:

The weight is not mine to carry alone, and it’s not yours to carry alone either.

Maybe we can’t change everything. Maybe we won’t see the world we dream of in our lifetime. But we can choose the way we show up in this moment. We can choose to keep our hearts open, even when the world tries to harden them. We can choose to reject fear and division, to lift each other up instead of tearing each other down.

And maybe that’s where the real shift begins—not in waiting for the world to change, but in being the ones who refuse to let the world change us and steal our light.

So I ask you—what if we softened, just a little?

What if, instead of seeing each other as enemies, we saw each other as fellow travelers on this chaotic, painful, beautiful journey? What if, instead of assuming the worst, we extended curiosity? What if, instead of letting our wounds define us, we let them teach us?

The world doesn’t change in one sweeping motion. It changes in the quiet choices we make every single day.

Even if your light flickers, even if it feels small—it still shines. Please keep your beautiful light shining. Let it be a beacon of hope, even for those who trespass against us. We can show kindness, extend compassion, and remind them that the world is not their enemy. And perhaps, in that moment of grace, they might find the courage to light their own candle—so that, one by one, the light will spread, and even those at the top trying to keep us in the dark, will have no choice but to see it.

Love,

P