January 9, 2014
What is my place in the family of things? I imagine a small hut on a long street lined with other small huts connected by thousands of tunnels in a great web so large that it is obvious you are not alone. Even though the hut is small, it holds everything perfectly because the hut is a representation of who you are –which is always enough. It doesn’t matter if you feel small and ragged. The hut reflects all of the beauty you possess. Sometimes that beauty is the shy smile you gave to that boy you liked but were afraid to talk to, blood plumping your lips as it turns your face five shades of red. Sometimes the beauty is the immense sorrow of loss that makes you cower into yourself until you become the huddled mass we are all afraid to be, but that we all become when we are afraid, lonely, or unsure of the world. Sometimes the beauty is so bright it pops out of you, bright specks flying here and there like a flock of bright blue birds flitting across a path, reminding us that the soft body of who we are needs gentleness, soft spaces, and the warmth of connection.