Penitent posturing ought to be enough.
The right words were said with the right cadence.
Still nothing changes and I blame heaven for the offense.
All the while my feet are stationary.
For I must be the one to move.
Move into the dark depths of my soul.
Where I myself fear to unlock.
Where I keep my tell tale wounds covered with distractions.
Like productivity, like sex, like religion.
All the while my wounds beat
baBUM. baBUM. baBUM!
I’m faced with the dilemma
Face my fear or drown in denial.
Revelation or tribulation.
Fight or flight.
Peeling back the layers is unbearable.
Run! Hide! Pretend all is good and give other people the answers.
baBUM! baBUM! baBUM!
To heal or not to heal.
Deal with my pain or keep running the race with a broken ankle.
“I’m great thanks. And here is what you should do with your life.”
The choice is there
Shall we begin?
[Poem #239. Context:
That is just about the hardest thing one can do, to not run or distract but wrestle with our pain and push through. I’m learning this, daring myself to move. Perhaps we can all do this together.]