Thursday, March 19, 2015

The Gift

I am a writer.  I write, I wrote today.

I am a writer, truth comes my way, I speak some words with confidence, some remain unspoken and yet I speak truth to me, sometimes to you. Compassion holds me tight at times that truth will not be shared.  

Vulnerability to great to speak. 

Her children hiding in a bomb shelter, she comes to me for words, compassion comfort.  She sees me in my own unseeing, our children, we seek hope, seek peace, of body, mind and soul.  Protection that we cannot offer is all we either of us want.  Words our comfort and our hope. 

Compassion holds me, holds us close, through storms of body mind. 

I honour,  and try to honour me, my fears, my longings, protective mother elements. Compassion holds me close.  Reminds me of my place in shared humanity, my place among the gathering of all sacred, scared, we are both and all, sacred scared humanity. 

Compassion holds me close.   Tears of healing from compassions comfort.  
See you, see me.

Calming breathe I long for deep compassions soothing calming breathe.

I am a writing writer seeking.

gkn april 2015

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