Good news can come in such a devastating fashion: we want to take it as bad news. We want to let it wound us deeply
(if only it would catalyze a great rainfall, how I long for rain as a droughted land!)
But it is good news.
It is exciting, joyous news (but not mine).
she grew very quiet.
I got very quiet and I remember the voices more than the words: the congealing dark blood of knowledge blocking my senses from a stirring dialog.
Instead I replayed an old thought:
"will not hurt..."
And did not.
"will not reject..."
that's right.
Bless the Lord, oh my soul.
(When the darkness closes in, still I will say,)
My thoughts travel far away and I know I can never, ever again believe the lie that somebody introduced, suggesting I am a sociopath.
For far away, over there, in someone else's shoes, a woman experiences a redemption and a healing that was missing (dare she hope?) So well I know the icicles in the heart, the cold cold, frozen summer of the heart! The sluggish crawl of a chilled animal trying to find the sun. "how could you--" yes, that is the midnight blue of a river deep as the ocean.
He gives and takes away
Could it be? the right time, (the dream, the recurring glimpse of perfectly placed out-of-place sunshine?) for a woman
and I can find myself in my place and glad for the passing flash of gray-and-beige laughter on its way home.
Bless the Lord, oh my soul, who gives and takes away.
(if only it would rain, on a weekend, flooding the streets and leaving them shining).
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