So imagine, a well of pain.  Deep, boiling, roiling pain that seemingly has no end, no bottom, no relief.  No clear source even.  Imagine it percolates, bubbles, sweats to the surface like huge pools of lava.  Crews are working constantly, and metaphorically, as sand fills the space left by the hot magma, dry cool sand that shores up the outer shell, mimics a solid form again.  But magma remains.  In other vast gaping holes.  Constantly on the move.  Well meaning souls with clumsy feet come along to explore.  Wear their best hiking boots, steel toe maybe.  Strong enough...when they trip - to launch that steel toe right through the outer cooling crust.  Oops.  So didn't mean to do that!  But now the hole from the bottom to the top is wide open.  Now the magma has an escape route.  Now there is an explosion of grief, of pain.  Manifesting as a tearful thundering rain.  The monsoons are indeed here again.  I wonder if they bring Compassion.