Sitting
quietly with myself I discover moments I thought long forgotten, gone, still
waiting for me.
I
come face-to-face with the parts of me I’d cast aside and thought swept far
away, and I remember this is my one precious Life and each thread [with all the
others] holds me still.
I
find my corners full with dusty bits of Time when this or that thing hadn’t
gone as I’d hoped or planned or sincerely BElieved I needed it to go.
I
step over the shards of lost hopes and crumpled-up wishes. I move aside the
boxes of disappointment and sit in one little sun-drenched patch of JOYs and
wondrousnesses.
When
I am quiet enough to really listen to the stillness and smallness of what
remains in me from so long ago, I am undone by the sweetness of who I was once,
and again, and even more times than I canNOT count along this Journey that
makes up what I call My Life.
I
don’t consider myself to BE so tender as I find I have been, had been, and I am certain I would
no longer BE considered anywhere near the neighbourhood of tender. NOT Now.
Yet
Now I see myself in another way and I can call it nothing if NOT gentle and
kindhearted.
Tender.
I
love you, Currie
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