Now, just now I am being called by the rich fabric of my sorrow and pain. Before, there was a refusal in me. It wasn’t necessarily willful. I just wasn’t convinced. My mind or maybe more accurate to say, my intellect took its superior stand to my emotions. I didn’t want to stop all the doing. There was a shield of fear that kept me from opening the door of grief. If, I’m honest, the inner landscape hadn’t dried out enough to receive my tears.

I feel no self-condemnation for my tardiness. Life lived me as it did. Now, just now I can feel the pull, the desire to know the deeper well of feeling within. My heart wants to gush with love again, the wild unbounded love of Spirit. It was there as a child, a pure, unselfconscious love flowing inside and out to everyone. The flames begin to ignite again bringing a remembrance of my essential essence.

The vulnerability I feel in writing these words wants to caution me. It’s too dangerous to open to the tender insides of this love. I realize in this moment I don’t have to follow the fear nor do I have to make anything happen. All I need do is write these words as they flow out of me. Then, open my mouth and let them tumble out.