Monday, July 14, 2014

THE THINGS WE DON’T TALK ABOUT WHEN WE DON’T TALK


WHO AM I?
How quiet it is after the shouting. Why is there no way to take back those words? How bitterness seems to hang in the air like a color or light or a tone of dread from a wind chime that won’t stop. The look in the baby’s eyes. How the cord of wood outside feels like neatly stacked body parts. The small mole which I do not have the time nor the inclination to have looked at. Where the water in the cove goes when the tide goes out – where your love goes when our tide goes out. Why I always have this feeling that this always is my fault. The way you lift your lip in that little snarl which looks like you are smelling something foul. I am probably to blame for the bitter coffee, too? Why the hell the neighbors slam their window? If we only have one car how can I go away? We don’t talk about Tenderness yet.

WHY AM I HERE?
     This is all about Love and Armor and Tenderness. Vulnerability and Brokenness. Maybe we can meet in our Brokenness. Brokenness is a small playground around the corner where we can sit on the low kiddie swings and talk about imperfections and failures and Angels. There are needles strewn about and empty whisky bottles.  It is ugly. The children don’t want to play there. Occasionally there are gun shots when the drug dealers shoot off cheap pistols they are taking in trade for heroin. This is were we must go with our Hearts in re-usable shopping bags. Such is love in our tattooed era. We have skin in this game.

WHAT DO I WANT?
     Guts.
     The guts to do it.
     The 12 nerves of the solar plexus to fire off all together when I whisper “Love Will” and cause a total reversal and spontaneous healing. Virgo of the inner constellation.
     The creation of a new Heart comprised of both. Two beats - systole and diastole. Giving and receiving.
     But I hesitate. It’s a risk. I am unsure.
     Healing is a risk.
     Neither one of us is good at giving or receiving. We need practice. Meet in our brokenness and practice.
     Tenderness.
It’s one of those things we don’t talk about when we don’t talk.

© Copyright 2014, Jean W. Yeager
All Rights Reserved


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