Tears pour out like an ocean from hidden depths, grieving a loss too old to express in words and too wide for thoughts to confine. I sit, surrounded by salt and sea foam, on a desert of water. Seven years of hiding, twenty years of believing. I wake to an ocean wide with solitude, rocking on the tide. I cry and heave into her unfathomable spaciousness, a salty offering, one drop at a time. Mind echoes the voices of thousands, "I am a wave imagining itself separate from the sea". Words. They fall heavy into the depths and I am left thirsty, surrounded by water and longing for a drink.
Some days, you just have to forget about ‘healing’. You have to stop trying to feel better, trying to overcome your emotional wounds, or trying to be anywhere other than where you are. You have to embrace the day as it is. And you have to give yourself the most sacred permission of all: To shatter. To break. To be an ugly mess. To lean into a place of utter humility and powerlessness in yourself. To cry out to the heavens, “I can’t do this!” To admit utter defeat in the loss of the life you had imagined. To crumble to the ground, lonely and hopeless and profoundly ruined. To want to die, even. And there, in the darkest places, in the blackness of the underworld, you may begin to rediscover... life. And learn to love the beginnings. A sacred reboot: A single breath. The way the sun warms your face. The sound of a tiny bird singing in the tree over there. The raw simplicity of a single moment of human existence. Hell has been transmuted, thr...

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