May 31, 2016
You are young. So you know everything. You leap into the boat and begin rowing. But listen to me. Without fanfare, without embarrassment, without any doubt, I talk directly to your soul.
Listen to me.
Lift the oars from the water, let your arms rest, and your heart, and heart’s little intelligence, and listen to me. There is life without love. It is not worth a bent penny, or a scuffed shoe. It is not worth the body of a dead dog nine days unburied.
When you hear, a mile away and still out of sight, the churn of the water as it begins to swirl and roil, fretting around the sharp rocks – when you hear that unmistakable pounding – when you feel the mist on your mouth and sense ahead the embattlement, the long falls plunging and steaming – then row, row for your life toward it.” –Mary Oliver
May 31, 2016
At times in our pink innocence we lay fallow, composting, waiting for growth and other times we rushed headlong like so many of our ancestors,
Rush headlong. Or lie fallow it doesn’t matter.
One day your path has shifted. in an eye blink you turn a corner. Something Is missing, was stolen, is misplaced, is gone. Your heart, a memory, a limb, a promise,a person. An innocence is gone. You find yourself returning from a journey. Your path now, as if channeled through a spectrum, is refracted and has left you point in a new direction Some won’t approve. Some will want the other you.. Some will cry wishing you had never left
But what has happened has happened
No way to undo it, we pay for laughter we pay again to weep. Knowledge isn’t cheap To survive we must return to our senses touch taste smell sight sound we must live as verbs not nouns let spirit guide us spirit living in breath with each breath we inhale and exhale we inspire and expire every breath has the possibility to cry or laugh a song or a story every conversation is an exchange of spirit the words ride sweet or bitter over the tongue the path must be forward scars now measurements of time monuments of battles survived
When you’re born into trauma you grow from it. But when you experience a trauma later in life you grow toward it. A slow move to an embrace .An embrace that leaves you holding tight. the beauty wrapped in the grotesque an embrace that becomes a dance
a new dance
a dance of pink