After the storm there is an amazing clarity. Everything has been stripped and washed clean. There is a sense of exhaustion and elation. There is hand-feeding of King Parrots and cooking together. There is the inability to stop staring at the kindest face on the planet. Fears that seemed monstrous have shrunk in the winter sunshine and have been wrapped in warm forgiveness. Memories of the storm prickle and sting. Self-forgiveness is much more difficult than any issue could possibly have been. I discovered that my nest of old is not as comforting as I thought it would be and that my true place of peace was in front of me all along. I howled, I roared, I slashed and snapped, I tore off great chunks of heart and spat them back with a soul sticky as tar and just as black. I boarded the train and wept like a small child. I crawled back to my sanctuary and was held and soothed. The nagging sense remains that I do not deserve this. I should have been lashed, not kissed. There is such enormous strength and kindness in this unassuming man that made me his wife. I am resolved to never underestimate his love again. Why must I always take the difficult path to everything? He is always there, in the sun with hand outstretched. It is time to be ingenuous and trusting and quit expecting and creating disaster. This will not be a simple thing. Or maybe it will and can be. This man of earth is a small miracle. He stands on the blacony with a female king parrot feeding trustingly from his hand and grins with pleasure. My heart breaks all over again. My gentle giant.
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