May 8, 2008
I have tried to write what it was and why. I will try again even though I don't know how and may never fully find it. But it is simpler than all that I have in words, because it is written on each of us in no English, deeper than the mind or heart and the only way to share is to speak it quietly inside to each other as small children speak with their eyes. It is about the times we make ourselves lost. When we wander with crippled feet trying again and again and again to run farther away, clawing at earth to find old rags to try to pull them back on. When hands become tools of desperation and our eyes are stricken with what we see, no longer under the shelters given to us from our Birth and it is about the coming of doubts like crawling things, fear that freezes and grief in every breath that chokes before it starts and then it is sorrow and finally a breaking comes. Enough pain to bring us to our knees and become silent, to empty our hands and listen. It is about knowing a father and great kindness. And it is in every part about believing that his spirit is stronger than pain and that he heals my sicknesses and that every time it comes I can fight it, never alone.
posted by Christina at 10:31 PM