Dear Constance…I was astonished and stunned into stillness by this piece of writing by an amazing poet that I consider in so many ways to be a soul sister. I highly commend her courage, her insight, and her flat out stubbornness which is occasionally her biggest opposition and yet is the bedrock of her being and empowers her to face down things that most human beings never even know are there while she stands watch and witness to them…and chooses not to run.
I have come to truly love her…I hope you will go to her blog and thoughtfully and tenderly read there…
I write in braille, inviting you to reach your hand under the heart blankets and feel the bumps there and learn to interpret them and thus know the story…but Cookie just freaking rips that blanket back and grabs your hand and plunges it into the bloody depths and says “take a look if you like…or not”.
And here, on Christmas Eve…is this not the stuff that would constitute the kind of meal that the Child came to eat? And then to in kind become for us to eat and be healed?
Blessings to you, Sister Heart and Warrior Mate. I salute you…and I love you.
Merry Christmas: Charissa
I should’ve known better.
I knew, but I should’ve known better than to trust my own knowledge. I should’ve known what I know now, I should’ve known better. I should’ve known.
That morning I woke up to you was a rare gift. That all the nights I slept sharing your warmth, with my back against your chest and our fingers interlaced, breathing in unbroken rhythm, those nights would never happen again. I had some dim recognition of the value of those moments at the time, but not like this. Now when I try to sleep all I can do, all I can do is back into the wall and pretend its you- but it’s not. It’s a cold, hard wall, and my heart is cold and hard, and that’s how I finally fall asleep each night- cold. I should’ve known better than to get used to your warmth.
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