The fog behind my eyes longs to push rewind, replay, for you, and you, and for me.
Life doesn't work like that: thank God for the morning pages, without them I'd be unable to process my life and it's passage.
I write into, through, and out of my pain, joy, happiness and love.
Right now I selfishly wipe away the tears, and years; and living in the moment I repeatedly plunge the dagger of my pain and loneliness into my own heart.
But, in answer to my prayer for wisdom and understanding I know that distance, time apart, and space, make for a wonderfully sustaining and long lasting mulch. I need to stand back in peace and silence, both for perspective, and so that I can draw upon my God: my hand in His.
For now I pull over the covers and close my eyes.
I am, without doubt, alive: What a two weeks and a bit it has been.
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