Sunday, September 11, 2011


I sometimes see my recovery as a fragile, nebulous thread that is woven through my journey. A gossamer fabric, flexing with every puff of a butterflies wing. A shield of chiffon through which everything flows and nothing is hidden.

I crave solidness, weight, protection. No shield of denim or leather or even wood. The coldness of steel between me and you. Stifling security. Oh, to be a potentate.

Not to be if I want to live. Soap bubble film is all there is. To feel every emotion wash over me, to keep eyes open as life flows through. The hurt, the pain, the terribleness I flee, form the hands that work, moulding me, making me. Clay on a spinning wheel.

A touch of faith, an atoms breadth, creates an opening for courage to show. Unexpectedly, a gentleness, a patience, a forgiveness. Grace.


Annette said...

Beautiful post. I am so glad you are back!:o)

indistinct said...

Seeking the light is a good path to be on.

Syd said...

Beautifully written. Grace is something that is beautiful.