“…Out of the quarrel with ourselves, we make poetry…” ~W.B.Yeats

We spoke about the difference
between
pain
and
suffering
we agreed how
pain is part of the natural order
it is inevitable
it is a given
but suffering,
that is a human construct
it is unnecessary
it is a result of a choice
along with it comes
injustice
and
violation

I agreed
and I understood
but it also made me angry when
you spoke about how we often
perpetuate our pain
turning it into suffering
by our thoughts—
the way our thoughts torture our minds
the way we torture ourselves
with our thoughts
with doubts
with lies
with disappointment
with denial
with what if
with “Why?”

it made me angry
because
I didn’t want to be culpable for any part of my pain
I wanted to tune out
that part of the conversation
forget it was said

but the truth kept
echoing ‘round the
canyons of my mind
all night
all day
without relenting

I thought about
what rivers of sorrow had carved out those canyons
what wild rapids of rage
had torn away at stone with fury and anguish
I thought about
what storms had eroded the terrain of my soul and
what wind had whipped jagged edges
into silky smooth polished stone

I thought about still waters
about their well-spring
about the depth to which my being plunges
and the riches and treasure that lie therein

I began to think about
the keys I hold
that might unlock these shackles
that might loose these chains
that might release these weights
I didn’t want to think
they were mine all along
that I could have been free long ago

But then again,
maybe it is because I have been searching
that I have even found them in my possession
maybe it could only be through such thorough cleaning
that such a discovery could be made

So once again
I shift my attention to
what it is that I do have–
and sometimes it takes the
reflection of a trustworthy confidant
to be reminded of all that I possess

I thought about forgiveness
and how I’ve been holding on tight
I see how I’ve wanted to
stay angry and hurt
thinking somehow
that these wounds define me and
fearing who I might be
if they were healed and forgotten
And I held on to not forgiving
because I didn’t want to feel
that I’d let them off the hook
because
I wanted to see justice
I wanted them to be humbled
but I will braid silver locks with gnarled knuckles
before I bear witness to these wishes
and I fear I would be overcome with the
cancer of resentment and disappointment
were I to hold out such hopes
And I have far too much to be and to do
to succumb my soul to being riddled with
such a deadly disease

So I thought again about forgiveness
about relinquishing my rights
to anger and to disappointment
I thought about letting go
of promises not kept and
expectations not met
I thought about
releasing my regret over
things lost
things never had
things stolen

I want to be done with this pain
to dance and laugh without the joints of my soul groaning and creaking
I want to bid farewell to this grief
to welcome Joy with warm embrace letting her light flood every dark corner
I want to crawl out from under this weight of sorrow
to be the me that is intended without any hindrance of undesired baggage
I want to be the
remarkable,
compassionate,
witty,
sensual,
adventurous,
playful,
authentic,
hope-driven,
woman I am
and I want to do so
with resilient abandon!

And I thought about redemption as
I sat listening to a young girl talk
about those things most painful to utter
I think
about who I am to those around me and
about the person I have the
privilege to be in the lives of my nieces
about the opportunities I have
from this point forward
to make different choices
and how I’ve already begun
to live
to heal
to grow
to change in ways former generations never dared
I think about that line I drew in the sand
as a little girl swearing to a God I desperately hoped was listening
that the cycle stops here
the pain ends with me
the tradition is broken
I will not step into those shoes
and will not walk in those footsteps

Oh I weep with joy for that brave girl who has grown
into a courageous woman willing to stand and face her demons
running full on into battle
in the name of
truth
and
wholeness
and
hope
and I am thankful
I am that kind of woman
that I listen for that still small voice
that I look for the barely perceivable
that I reach out in hopes of feeling even the faintest vibrations
of what is true
what is real
what is pure

this is truth
right now in this moment
the clouds have parted and I see the vast night sky with
all of it’s infinite stars and galaxies and moons and planets
for a moment I glimpse this truth with
the clarity of a thousand lenses with
the certainty of my own sight with
the confidence of my own touch

I document my story
with all of it’s triumphs and defeats
to remind myself that
I
am human
that my being swells and diminishes
with the ebb and flow of what it means to be human:
to falter…to reach out
to forget…to be reminded
to stumble…to take the hand offered
to wander off…to be found
for I am not in this fight alone
no matter how desolate the battlefield may seem
and while my fiercest strength lies within myself
it is ever renewed by the fellowship of those I hold dear

it is indeed epic, this business of being true
but I suppose I’d think it bland
to have it any other way.

Mark these words well, for
I will need gentle reminders down the path
ere I wander into forest dark
or too close to canyon’s edge as I make way
for those waters still.

**This piece is an excerpt I wrote as part of a conversation and correspondence with a dear friend. I have decided to share it with the world because I do believe that, “the story of one of us, is in some way, the story of all of us.”