Just now I was making coffee by the island at around three on a Saturday in late January and watching Christopher Eccleston break down in tears on Good Morning Britain recalling a time he had bullied a sensitive kid at school and I saw the effort he was making with his cheeks to contain his face from cracking on breakfast television and my face cracked for him, it wasn’t sadness, it was something like sadness but a lake of sadness rained over by clouds of goodness, the good was falling over the sadness and I was crying because of the beauty of everything, the unending pain of humanity, that all the time around the clock we are suffering, all of us unendingly at different times, one unending stream of suffering and I felt like I was crying for everyone, a shared pain, to be with them and share in their grief and bring them strength and to bring us all strength. And I thought how open I felt, that this whole experience that had shaken my heart in a way I had never felt, had left me open, open to emotion in a way that was so beautiful and so good. My suffering had made me aware of real suffering, and to see it as a gift, and feel the pain of being a human much more deeply, if I am suffering like this so must so many other people, and fifty times worse, and I cry for them and for us all, and for beauty despite the sorrow, and that in the depths of the pain is beauty itself. To feel so much, just to feel.