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I feel very brave starting out this new journey. To be doing something that requires a hell of a lot more energy than just resting and waiting and hoping, and when the energy kicks up a little bit, praying. Writing can often release the heart. What about reading it, years later? It's easier to solidify it with pen in a closed notebook, or send it off into some hole in infinite cyberspace. But now I'm going to crack it back open and read it. All of it. I'm going to gather them all, my stories and Scott's, and our story, and spread it all out so I can see it, and so you can see it. And in that process touch gingerly old pain and old love, and wonder, with a full throat and trembling chin, what, if anything, these stories have to say. Is there any use for them besides the change and healing that's already molded for us each a new heart. I am brave to start, here, in the middle. I would wait a lifetime for a clean, smooth ending to the tale before i dared share it. my mind asks, what is there to learn? i still don't know. i'm still here, tired, full of love and hope, but still in the mystery--the hall of mirrors, my teacher once told me. I am still raw. I am still steeping. My greatest desire still remains to be healthy and whole. I can feel myself clutching at all these words, papers hugged to my chest, me protecting them, them protecting me. I have not wanted to write more. I have felt like these words were enough. Too much maybe. Instead, I have climbed into my flesh as much as possible, moving into the silence of breath, of stone, of sky, of an ocean that holds me without words, healing what i cannot say is broken. I love this silence; it is sweet and rich and soft and full. I am afraid to break it now. Gathering [2009-09-04]
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Last five letters Gathering [2009-09-04] ?2002, Scott & Celeste. |