I was brought up in a boys-don't-cry world. Both socially and personally ... boys don't cry. This may seem bizarre and even twisted in a world where on-stage politicians and others have learned to shed a tear at the drop of caught-in-the-act or harsh-memories hat, but it is just what happened to me: Weeping never seemed to work very well as a means of redressing an agony that could be very real. Perhaps, as a child, I knew that once I started, I might never stop.
Nowadays, I am getting somewhat better about it. The toxins of sorrow deserve an outlet. They deserve the kindness of expression. I say this both on my own behalf and on behalf of those who likewise may feel shuttered and trussed. Without the tears, how could anyone expect to escape the tears?
And so, for example, I am responsible for a blog thread in which those who were and in some cases remain aggrieved by the actions of Eido Tai Shimano can speak out and, in a sense, weep or rail. In the past, such behavior has been stifled, in part because there was no grieving circle, no place of agreed-upon sorrow, no Internet, no place in which to let-'er-rip. Tears, of course, sometimes entail a dollop of self-congratulation and righteousness, but I would argue that such aspects are just part of the mix ... of toxins within toxins that need to be given room to roam.
I don't mean to put too much weight on any particular instance or situation in which weeping feels warranted. It is the generalized need and necessity to give tears their time that interests me. Lord knows it is tiring listening to someone who makes sorrow a professional hallmark, but I think it is an issue that anyone might want to assess and live through and survive.
Laughter, after all, requires a clean slate. And what better solvent than tears?