Quietness

This morning I remember things I had forgotten. I remember that when we are hurting, and try to be strong, everything becomes brittle, frantic, and broken. I remember that fears we are too afraid to voice, those that stick in the throat like fishbones, they tears holes in us, through which strength bleeds. I remember that if I do not try to hold off the storm, but bow before it, speaking truths that burn my throat and blister my tongue, then it passes. It passes and I find mornings like this. Waking late, to a white sky and the wind gentle plaiting and unplaiting the slender branches of the tree outside my window. My hands feel like doves, laid gently by my face in rest, in my lap in wakefulness. There’s silence and thoughtfulness, my mind moves gently like a woman combing the beach after a storm, lifting a shell here, a branch of wood for the fire. I drink tea and eat porridge, and in their simpleness there is a peace. No more the screaming excesses. The burden has passed, the pain has eased.

Today I shall do what I can and no more. I shall work with my hands to make my world whole, to sew up the tears and sweep out the shadows that cloy at the mind. I had a nightmare, and it came over my face and my eyes, it screamed and would not stop screaming. I screamed within it and my world went dark, full of fire and fear. It bound me a future I could not bear, to a fate that twisted me, a destiny that compelled me to become a twisted thing. Such is the burden of those who have been wounded as I have, such are the shadows that follow at our heels. When we name them truly, they run from us, for a time. Today I can see clearly. There’s a wind in my soul, a peace in my heart. All is as it should be. I rest my heart in the hollow of the hill.

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