loneliness. my eyes well up as i scribble the word on the page, surprised by it—not the tears, but the naming. it is odd as i feel them trickle down my nose and cheek. i suppose the aftershocks of so much emotion and searching and expectation. but what am i afraid of—this sharing of myself? why was i so scared to reach out, to admit i was lonely, that i needed more to fill my hollow heart?

my face feels hot, the mercury rising in this crowded room, tucked among strangers and new friends. the letting go i promised myself. the slow, aching steps toward healing. the cracking wide open—bleeding onto the page, the words blurry through my salt rimmed eyes. i want to write about heartbreak, my sister's little green urn, about emptiness and pain. i want to write about the long treacherous trail, the broken bones, the torn layers, the shattering of the life i knew. i want to feel it all, let it consume me, envelope me in its cozy mohair embrace. to nourish my cracked soul, fill in the tiny spaces with the nectar of understanding.

i want to see the truth, to be fully present to every hope, wish, desire. to stop stuffing it all back inside the box, desperately pulling at the bow, tying it up all pretty like a new gift. it is inevitable, the bow will not remain—the box crumbles away, decayed and rotted. but it's there inside, still glowing, shining, that tiny green sphere of hope—energy—growing slowly each day. fueled by my fellow artisans, healed by the universe; ready, waiting, pulsing, breathing.

calm. without the layers it is peaceful, free. nothing to stand in the way of the continuous circular journey. i am approaching the curve, it has been coming slowly, but i am closer now. i see the bend, the shift, the opportunity. i will not backpedal, not press the brakes. i will not be alone.
this is something i wrote last november in my workshop at kripalu....i just found it in my notebook. wow.

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