woman bird

By Carolyn Riker

If I could sing you a lullaby, I would.

If I could hold your hand and stay with you while the world kept spinning, I would. If I could give you a hug and nothing more, I would. If I could stroke your hair, and let you know how beautiful I see your soul, I would.

With my hand to my heart there’s nothing more I would like to do but to tell you it will be okay.

Let those tears fall when the salinity reaches full. Let the rivers of our soul speak. Let us stretch into the spaces of anguish and feel. Knowing, on some weary level, we are not alone.

Let music reverberate through the very pores of our sensitivity. Let nature wrap a shawl of comfort over the syncopated sway of each ache.

When I can no longer breathe, it is with great practice and strength to step into solitude and listen. Otherwise, I’m miserable.

I’m on that cusp right now.

I see it as a crossfire of change. The smoke is thick the flames are high. The risk to step out and over the ledge—is terrifying.

I’m not sure if there’s a cushion at the bottom of the abyss. I don’t even want to look over the edge. So much feels out of control. The lists of life’s demands grow exponentially with each drop of rain.

If I could wish upon a star and speak with pureness I would ask myself, “What is the next step?”

And I can hear the answer, “You already know; match your inner-wisdom and write from you heart.”

“Go into yourself. Find out the reason that commands you to write; see whether it has spread its roots into the very depths of your heart; confess to yourself whether you would have to die if you were forbidden to write. This most of all: ask yourself in the most silent hour of your night: must I write? Dig into yourself for a deep answer. And if you this answer rings out in assent, if you meet this solemn question with a strong, simple “I must,” then build your life in accordance with this necessity.” ~ Rainer Maria Rilke.

If I could take away the ‘ifs, buts, and holy hell’ I’d be cheating myself. Instead I have to fill it with honesty.

There’s no quick fix.

This is all a process of finding ourselves.

It’s a nonlinear walk through the fires as our soul speaks. Life is a perpetual process.

Each day I experience more moods than the clouds on a stormy day. I hold a prism in the palm of my hand. Twisting and turning the edges and seeing refractions of light and dark.

A mirror appears before me and I see the shattered pieces returning to me with newly found tenacity.

The looking glass is tilted in the corner of a spacious room. It overlooks the mountains and the sea taking on an exquisite alchemy of spatial awareness; there’s an integration within and around me.

Gentle winds unwrap my former layers of hurt and pain. I stand naked with ashes at my feet.

I am not ashamed.

Doves fly from my mouth and a swirl of elders gather next to me. The softest robe is wrapped around and my voice hums the richest, deepest melody; it is from all the souls of my experiences.

You are safe. You are seen. You are needed. We will hold you and comfort you. You are loved.


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Photo: artforadults/tumblr
Editor: Sherrin Fitzer



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