Hallelujah.

Some days we have nothing more to say other than the word the baffled King himself would say, “Hallelujah.” We carry questions around our necks like precious, sacred jewellery. Sometimes these questions overwhelm, overtake, and over restrain us in a way in which we become stricken by the jagged burden of the deep pain done to a loved one, done to us. We can become possessive, protective, and even particular with this undistinguishable heaviness. Sometimes this piece is not ours to carry, or wear. Actually, it never is intended for us to claim ownership of. We must return it, to give away that which was never meant for us to take in the first place. We can do this with our children, our parents, our friends, our community, our nation, or our world. We fight ourselves with indignant weaponry. Is it for survival or for death? The only answer is love. Love outside. Love inside. Outside of our thickened walls of protection and inside the most vulnerable places unshielded to self. Deep sadness, fear, disbelief, and disappointment has no echo, only a constant sound than can be hindered by the gentle whisper of hope.

 

The Perfect Storm.

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I just need to write. I can’t find paper so I use a brown paper bag I see in the car. My perfect storm. Just as 1 has been in her perfect storm, we are left with the muddy water and remnants left for pick up. My perfect storm? Well, I am just facing the waves with my mouth shut tight and my eyes fixed on the perfect wave about to crash, break and take me down. I am 34 with 10,000 ideas, but zero time. There is so much I want to do but I can’t find the break, the time, or the space. Am I driven enough? Am I confident enough? Am I smart enough? Fear has gripped me by the throat since as long as I can remember. I have a fantastic memory and I remember in detail. To see fear come like a thief in the night, to haunt, to taut and to stick his dirty fingers onto the vulnerable life of one of my kin, this is not going to happen. Though it may seem as though it is happening, this anxiety, this insanity, this ambidexterity, it will not succeed in its deliberate act of imposing itself in my family’s life. I have my cleaning bucket, my gloves, and my sleeves rolled. A muddy mess, perhaps, but perfect storm, you will not take me down.