Inhale,
Exhale.
Welcome to a hit of hope.
It's winter where I am.
The snow sits quietly on the fallen logs in the forest,
The deer bed down in the soft banks.
Long and fragile icicles hang from the rooftops,
Except for the ones that have fallen because of a surprising warm spell.
Those icicles have shattered into clear and shining pieces.
All kinds of things can leave you feeling shattered.
A diagnosis,
A death,
The pull of an addiction,
A job you loved suddenly gone.
An end to a love you thought would last forever,
A host of things you said or done that you can never change.
When you are shattered,
It can take everything in you to put yourself back together.
Peace by jagged piece.
That work alone is hard enough.
But when that rebuilding work is done,
It can be so tempting to make sure that kind of pain never ever happens again.
So it can be tempting to wrap yourself in gauze,
Put yourself in a box filled with cotton balls and miles of bubble wrap.
It can be tempting to protect yourself because you never want to feel pain like that again.
It's okay to be afraid.
It's okay to curl up,
To curl in and protect your tender heart.
Because getting hurt sucks.
Crying on the kitchen floor or in your closet or in your car as the person next to you stares,
That sucks.
Inhale,
Exhale.
Here's the thing.
If you are human,
You are fragile.
You are easily broken and damaged.
You are so vulnerably delicate.
The only thing between you and the big world is a layer of skin.
You are fragile.
And so you can hide.
You can protect.
You can stay curled in.
You can also remember spring is on its way.
The seed has to let go of its shell if it wants to reach the light again.
I know.
It's scary as hell.
You are fragile.
You are beautiful.
You are brave.
When you are ready,
Crawl out of your shell and let the light in.
Namaste.
