My Message to you
A whiplashed heart does risky things to avoid further injury, insult, injustice.
Ever feel like you’re being judged for some of these survival behaviors?
Friends fretted lovingly and family quietly fashioned complicated life-lines.
I toiled at aimless distractions pretending they worked…
Then I moved. Back to a location that I had once fondly identified as home.
The peace and comfort I recalled were no longer housed in that location.
I worked to remember what I dreamed before the attack of the whiplashed heart
and the beginning of my much discussed and over analyzed “decline.”
I wasn’t certain I could reimagine the specifics but I had a rather general idea.
So, I accidentally slipped off the edge of what was left of my vanishing dignity.
It was not a leap, as leap implies grace and timing. Accidents aren’t timed.
I stumbled into the dark abyss of my very own unknown prison.
Directly into screaming head-winds and impossible expectations I’d induced.
Clumsily I crash-landed into a fleshy, human heap.
Slowly, I recognized I was every single element of this humbled remnant-pile.
Rumpled and dazed, my tortured heart was still pounded in perfect sync.
I was very much alive. Inhale, exhale. This action repeats without intention.
This basic process steadied me. The chest rises, and falls even while asleep.
Nothing that ever really mattered was wounded beyond recovery.
I could sit up. I could walk. I could still move – move on. Onward.
So, sometimes we stumble.
And during the fall, we recognize how our soul soars along to guide us.
Listen for the wing-beat of your soul. Your quiet heart always hears it.
Nurture that solid connection. Feel that steady beat. Sing that simple song.