July 10, 2024
Not everything can be tied up with a bow and packaged. Some things by design are meant to spill over, to bleed, to soak, to leak. I've done my absolute best to make use of every reference statement of “hope” as I heal from heartbreak, doing so in attempts to not only make the heartbreak easier to bear, but to also make meaning of the senselessness, as if that makes it any more necessary or understandable. What is understanding anyway but submission to an ideas' plea to be the truth? I sometimes wonder.. because wonder will lead me where I'm afraid to go in knowing; but I wonder if ideas, experiences, moments become easier to understand when there are others standing under the same thing regarded as truth. And once we've made a habit of grouping with familiar faces to regard our truths, do the truths lose their meaning? Do we lose ourselves in the crowd of “understanders”? does that leave room for much variety? There is what is shared, but there is also what is felt, and it could be felt by one for longer than another. It seems everyone has a different moment of interception from whoever it is that gives us permission, or rather invitation, to move forward. Some of us must carry on while the wound is still bleeding, while others are given direction to let it fully mend first. So who speaks for the blood that trickles into new territories? The one who is bleeding, or the one who calls them forward? And what is there to be said about the soil, and what it does with the blood as we carry on? That is such an intimate exchange between the blood and the soil, and if fruit and flower should grow from that before the others arrive, what is the use, importance, or life of the story of bleeding? How often are we used as an example once the people have come to bear witness, but we don't understand that in the in-between of our departure and of their arrival, and though this is a gift of a journey, it does not get to be packaged prettily. It is a message embedded and living its way out throughout the bleeding. We take on these calls to be whatever is deemed necessary to the world as we and our source know it, but we don't always know the details of those calls or the directions of them. I've been told many times that I am a messenger, but I did not know that sometimes that meant carrying a message that does not fit in a box with a bow or a bottle. Sometimes the message is one that is picked up and placed down every step over broken glass into green pastures, remembering that even I have an intimate relationship and experience of the message too. Whether that experience is one where I hold the weight before it all unfolds into the reality of who must accept it, or be it that I must simply believe that whatever I’m sent to deliver is worthy of being told. have to trust it. I have to trust that to be used in such a way is a brave thing. Even if I’m the only one who knows what it took to do it.
Oh love, the distance you call us to know and travel to.