I sit perched between the two places my heart travels. It is wildly uncomfortable which means I must pay attention and listen.
But THIS hurts.
"There is nothing to fix."
"All beauty has ripples of pain."
I know this, I know this, I know this...but still...
A mother bird just leaves the nest. Done, finis, adios.
"Not until they are ready to fly."
"She comes and goes as they mature, finding and giving sustenance."
The on-off, on off rumba.
I don't know if my heart can take the strain.
I breathe feeling a need to gather inward pulling the painful organ close to comfort. This is an instinctual motion, the method having been utilized several thousand times over the decades.
Not this time.
My lungs open wide, allowing the comfort of Mother Earth to fill the space.
And a heart unfurls, painful jagged spasms slowing the process until the naked raw emotion blends with All that IS.
I weep, but I am not alone.