Was it really only two months ago that I left? I feel like
more time should go by that I should sleep a whole lot more before embarking on
anything again. But by the second week of empty freedom I knew it couldn’t be
long before I would try again.
All the good that has ever come from me was not me. My
efforts always fell flat. They were less than worthy.
The thing I realize now is that I can’t forget my heritage
nor should I. My heritage is to heal, to repair; all that I dream of is refuge
and healing. In all my little problems and wanderings I find myself in the role
of wise councilor. Had I ever listened to myself, I might know what to do with
myself now.
There is music in the back of my head so faint when I listen
hard it goes away. It worries me.
For me passion has been hard to define. It was so close to
me enveloping me it was the air the earth and I couldn’t name it. It woke me in
the dead of night it was suggestive it played with my hair and I couldn’t hear
it. It burrowed deep down to the core of my being it fought my decisions and I felt
it. No, it is still an unexplainable thing and I call it love.
Love is never what you think it is.
Those boys seem squint faced now. I don’t understand. The day
I caught them fighting their eyes had been round. I had seen clearly what had
happened but I couldn’t touch the core the secret that hung between them. They
refused to talk. My powerful imagination wanted to fill in the blanks to tell
the whole story. Maybe, maybe they, but I stopped my conscious self. There’s no
way I can know if they won’t talk.
In the night the images and thoughts went round and round. They
tried to fill in, to solve, fix, heal the situation but what could I really do?
I didn’t have any answer.
The same is true for my friend who was placed under my
special care through circumstances I wish had never happened. In my mind I tried
the impossible to know what I couldn’t know. Of course I failed. When we are
commanded to heal the sick it’s not what you think. We are given power but we
cannot possess it. When we are assigned people to love there will be pain. It isn’t
our love that is spent just as it isn’t our personal power that heals.
I struggle to let go. Leave the real work where it belongs. To
be only the conduit of divine light not the possessor of it. I’m leaky.
I also need the light to be on me. I am wretched without it.
Hard and lonely places have been my lot for decades, yeah, I can say that now,
decades. I have fought and come out bloody ever time but never really healed. Not
completely anyway.
The truth,
The truth is, spiritually I was the one who refuses to quit
the one that would die on a battle field but had never learned when to ask for
help. That’s what I was, a Loan Ranger. Hah! What was I blind?
I know that I need. I know that I am weak. I still don’t ask
enough. I wander from place to place seeing if eyes will meet mine if hands
will reach out to lift me up. The reason I can’t ask as much as I should is twofold.
First I am out of practice. More importantly though is the words. There are no
words when the opportunity comes.
“Help me but I can’t tell you how” is a frustrating message
to deliver. I struggle with it. It hurts me that I have a hard time saying out
loud what I need, because without this communication I will never heal.
