This morning, I read a blog post that cracked my heart open.
Loosing faith by Bethani Jade– On her Self Study blog.
In the comments/ Reply section… I wrote:
Walking with you.
I began a new file today on my typer-machine. Under Spirit — Cries of/from the Heart.
I save your words as the first entry.
I hesitate to say “thank you” or to “like” this post. I want a different button to press.
I am grateful for your words.
I love that the post is titled Loosing faith… not losing, though there is that as well.
The despair of losing faith. The hope of loosing faith.
All in one. Brilliant.
In the sending forth, there is a blessing offered up.
I believe that. Our creations, whatever they are, spark for someone.
Oh the ways we save our own lives.
I am drawn to Bethani’s post, because I need it. We all so desperately need the honesty and truth of it.
For me, today’s spark lit around what Bethani says about telling others… About talking to others when thoughts of suicide or desperation arise within us and how “I can see my weight transfer from my mind to yours, but I am no lighter for it, and again I am afraid.”
I want to write something for Bethani and for all of us who find ourselves reaching for “the things that help.”
I try to reach for something in the scribble book….
You say, I can see my weight transfer from my mind to yours, but I am no lighter for it, and again I am afraid. And that is the biggest ache for me. That you feel no lighter.
That I, when I am in that dark-dog place, feel the same. And how that knowledge makes me clamp down, clam up, hide.
And how I know that when a friend feels this despair, I want them to come to my house and lay it out. I want to share it, lift the weight somehow. Even though I know it doesn’t really work like that.
I know it doesn’t lift the weight. But I want to… try.
I want to make them soup and tea and go for a walk by the river and cuddle up to watch a teary hilarious movie. I want to read them a poem.
I want, so much, to write you a poem that you can fold up and carry in your wallet, tuck inside your memory, like a talisman.
Words to beat back the dark.
A spell… a casting… a circle of …. light. Of warmth. Of cell vibrating love.
Hold this word, darling, like a pebble in your mouth.
Run your tongue around the d and g, slip smooth along the a.
Let it carry your breath warm into your body.
Let it run like water cool.
Any word will work.
To pebble-skip across the pool of being
And wake you.
I like that.
It isn’t like, the greatest poem ever written. It may not even be a poem for true for true. But whatever it is… I like the shape of it.
I need to work on poems. On finding the shortest way to something. The keenest edge. The knife that cuts through the dregg-o dread-o.
Clumsy as it is, I offer it up.
To Bethani and to you.
Because there's never enough time to do it right the first time but there's always enough time to do it over