All tempest has, like a navel, a gap in its center, by which a gull can fly, in silence. – Fourteenth Century Japanese, Nameless
Residing on the Fringe of Heart
Residing on the fringe of heart the place certainty and absolutes and certain ft giggle. The place religion is the embrace of the prayers and creeds I keep in mind from childhood. The place the scent of Balinese incense invokes profound gratitude. The place the soul of every part I’ve ever liked smiles and celebrates. The place starvation, lack, concern, and remorse are secrets and techniques I don’t must share. The place the trail appears like a treasure map and the coordinates lay riches naked. The place bruised knees are angel kisses and black eyes are the rainbow’s edge. The place sunshine presents optimism and the air tastes like chocolate. The place birthdays and thanks notes and favourite recipes are remembered. The place yesterdays dash, tomorrows dance, and kids develop. The place the current is stuffed with that means and the long run is a pleasure crescendo.
From the middle of a storm, the quiet reminds us that the storm will go. Earlier than a storm we aren’t sensible and cannot see. Earlier than a storm we gossip, decide, and destroy. Earlier than a storm hope is wispy, wishy, and meringue. Earlier than a storm we neglect to forgive. Earlier than a storm we stay small, afraid of our shadows. Earlier than a storm we’ve got all of the solutions. Earlier than a storm certainty is straightforward.
All of us stay on the fringe of heart. Shifting between storms. Studying to know storms. Figuring it out. Disregarding our denims. Grieving. Respiration. Creating. Ending what issues. Letting go of rocks and venom and poison. Elevating prayers and mantras. Utilizing our rituals to search out our method. Working towards kindness with urgency. Carrying our mild tales and wounds towards therapeutic and peace. Storms go. Storms go. Storms go.