I've been dipped in the slow glaze of mollasses of really doing this work---shifting the hurt and pain into art and gold.
Making the pain into something that feels pure again.
And I've done it---the ashes of the past sift through my open palms, I am no longer grasping the ache like it's the seed of my identity.
Knowing I can let go---
That is the seed.
That is what will bear fruit.
Not the pain itself, but in how we respond to it---how we hold it, behold it; let it move us as it creates and re-creates us.
The pain is not healing in itself.
Our choice, our will---that's what can make it healing.
This understanding glistens as tears do, in the corners of my eyes cascading through my being to reach all parts of me…