I wrangled out a post yesterday,
pushed it through the sieve of some sleepless hours
and tried to coax some juice to share.
Because it was time and I wanted to find the lovely
and serve it to you here.
Then I dumped it in the trash
because it felt forced,
driving me, and then I felt them like a song,
the words I scrawled on the console of my old work truck
in red lipstick,
wrote them down bold so that maybe my heart would hear it stronger
in the wounded place where I sometimes go bloody
in the heat of a small day.
Because sometimes my hungry places want to carve it somewhere big
“I am here”
“I matter”
“Do you see me now?”
As if only something beautiful or important enough
might repair the holes I hide.
Like the lipstick on my console,
I’ve decided to just leave them to the light.
Let the guy at the garage scratch his head and puzzle:)
Lay my unloved places bare
so that Love can find and heal and fill them there.
It’s risky business, leaving yourself open to love.
But I’d rather live loved than driven.
The words scrawled in red lipstick across my gimpy parts:
“You don’t need to justify your existence.”
– Don Miguel Ruiz
(big glad honest sigh)
I’ll be sending out a package of handwritten love to Lisa Moreland this week.
Gonna plunk names into a hat again this week to draw for
another little personal love bomb
from my heart to yours.
Thanks for coming around:)
