Wounded, not forever…there is a doorway

“There’s something about deep wounding that can be a pathway to deep, deep love.

It’s a very beautiful thing when the wound becomes the doorway."

—Henry Shukman

Out of the whirlwind of pain, the first paragraphs to a new chapter have ensued. A new project is taking shape, bigger and more ambitious, breaking comfort zones with a sledgehammer or, so I thought…

As the world runs into the first few weeks of 2022 and I slowly creep in, blinkers on, still refusing to look at the devastation the last year left in its wake; it becomes clear that I am still grieving, wounded, too scared to face my loss head on, to lick my wound...

Last week my body took charge, became sick and forced me to stop.

To heal.

Moving thoughts from left to right, watching words float around, ping pong-ing letters up and down, my grasp of reality keeps sliding off of a teflon brain.

Nothing seems to stick. Something is missing.

I’m leaning against my feelings, the old me watching the ceiling fall in. The new me, the me in the present waving away an enormous dry dust cloud looming far longer than I thought possible.

The debris in my mind making no sense.

Stoping. Being forced to a standstill is my doorway.

A doorway to clarity and, very soon; once the energy recalibrates and aligns; newfound freedom and power.

Love never dies. People do. Not love.

Remembering this guides my first careful steps through the doorway of dust…