Pulling on the clothes of mourning. I knew this moment would arrive. Without a carriage or fanfare but indeed, arrive it would.
Unannounced yet prepared I seem. My dress has waited for this day silently. Not wanting to warn me, yet much aware.
I am mourning the sweet promise of your blossoming and the generosity of your veiled friendship. A veil even you yourself do not see or recognize.
Today I mourn that there is something that stands between us. Impenetrable and non-moving even with the gentlest of love offerings.
Mourning, awakened by your ego, unable to see its way out of its “rightness”, unable to truly apologize from the heart…this leaves us at an impasse.
A half made bed, for half-made sleep. A half-made journey.
What is it within you that must always be right?
What pains you so greatly that you must, at all costs super-impose your reality on every frame? Every picture?
Every attempt made, every peaceful pact…crossed. You remain blind.
I see too much. I see too deeply. It is my way. My nature supersedes my heart’s disbelief.
I must smile, curtsy and behave politely as my Soul is watching. I want to howl my pain at the night and hear her echo back so I am less alone.
But I cannot. I must tend this fever, this heartache of mine.
Patiently the way I would mop my brother’s brow. I must love my Self into forgiveness until the poison has dwindled.
I must love my Self into remembering that what aches is temporal.
Until my sweet lady needs no longer to curtsy for her Soul has joined her and she has remembered.
Remembering that each releasing unfurls in it’s aching a new morning for my lady & Soul to dance into their wholeness.
I dance. We dance. My dress falls away.
We dance into the majestic dawn of purples and pinks that lightens my heart and invites more of my Soul to reside in this temporary abode.