Worlds

I am getting nothing done. If the world were inside of me, it would be bottle-necked – bits of ocean and land smashing into each other – only a conglomerate of life is coming through my throat. I feel too much. Am too much. There’s too much to say. Too much to do. I see too much. There is too much.

The burden is not putting it down in text form. The burden is separating it all out. All the feelings/thoughts/wonders/hopes. It’s too wild. And, I don’t know what to do with it right now.

So, I won’t.

I’ll just invite you in.

Because, maybe you feel the same way.

Maybe you have worlds crashing inside of you that are too heavy and wild, wonderful and terrible to sift through.

So we’ll sit. With the worlds in our throats. Speechless yet full of speech. Hopeful, but hands remaining wantingly empty.

I hear you.

I hear your heart.

Because, at this point, when there are no words and really no way to understand or comprehend everything, if we can get closer and silent enough, we will hear each other’s hearts.

We can take our shoes off, making this a terribly, wonderfully, holy ground.

We can honor each other’s pain.

We can be honorably silent in the things that cannot be fixed but somehow, someday will be healed.

We can strip away the false beliefs that have held us back from each other, believing that the other is somehow the other.

Look.

At.

Us.

Eyes.

Hands.

Feet.

Or not.

There is no telling what we’ve lost in this story called Life.

You might have a phantom limb.

A place where you still feel pain in a place where part of you should be.

Me too.

Me too.

Mine is just not physical.

But, I get the ache.

It hurts.

Badly.

 

So, what now?

As we sit, silent, on the edges of spring, next to trees refusing to bloom.

We wait.

We wait until we have the strength to separate the ocean away from the land inside of us. We take tiny pieces of these places in us that ache and hurt and hurl us into our futures and, if we have the strength, we lift them with our hands and we bless them. Like Jesus on the mountaintop, we raise it towards the light.

Then, we share them.

With our family, our friends, our community, in the hopes that our worlds, our pains will be food to strengthen the next person…

and the next…

and the next.

I’ll be honest. I don’t know where we’re go from here.

But, we’ll get there.

This is all that I know.

This is what I believe.

Photo Credit: Steven Arenas at Pexels.com

 

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