Hands To The Heart Center.
She wears her diffidence like an armor. It is often polished, immaculate and impossible to penetrate.
There is never an apology for the paranoia, and in her mind everyone has a motive, everyone is out to destroy her and make her wrong.
She goes through excuses like a river that is overflowing, gushing, spewing and creating chaos all over the place as she runs the gamut of blame.
She is always seeking an out for her insidious behavior — twisted, unaccountable, quiet and wildly odd, but not in a badass You go, girl way, but in a Why do I insist on a hurricane way.
Time-sucking, mind-f**king, a life of insecurity… I bow to her storm.
Her glass? It remains half — not half-empty, not half-full, but half. Half-assed, a half-truth, and half-baked.
And she says that the drama follows her everywhere, though she is the one who creates it, lives it, eats it and sleeps in it; that is the only life she knows.
Happiness will never be an option; it is just too far away, too much work, and that means she might have to wear a smile instead of her designer jeans, yet happiness is all she longs for…
The distrust weighs her down, makes her heavy — mind, body and soul — and the result is sadness, but she won’t give in to a possibility that she has to love and trust herself first.
She is the only one who sees her life as being so horrid, but that is her prerogative, and her right, and I have no business to prove her wrong. However, I would give anything for it to be different.
We all know that interfering is dangerous unless we are called to the mat, and I answered the only time I was. I was torn to shreds for it, but I still reached out and she reached in.
I was hopeful, but it didn’t take long before old habits reared their messy little faces, and I listened until I was exhausted.
So now, in sorrow and dismay, I move my hands to the heart center, and say a little prayer.
I feel so damn dirty and guilty when I can’t hear her pain anymore. I am her soul sister, it is my duty, so I hang on. I hang on, then hang up, and want to puke it all out for a cleanse; it so very hard to imagine the world that she lives in.
I close my eyes and try to wish it all away.
One day it may look brighter for her. It might rain diamonds into her heart instead of on her person for heightened social status.
Maybe it will help with filling up her pools of sadness with joy, ridding her of fears, and finding a bit of solace in the amazing light that she really is.
But, we only see what we want to see, so I embrace what I don’t currently understand. Right now, I am severely blind — our worlds are so incredibly distant, empty and full. The dichotomy of life plays out intensely.
I am told to be patient, be tolerant and give it time — but time is of the essence when someone you love is hurting.
Now all I can do is bow to her storm, and say:
I am your sister forever. My hands are held in prayer for you at my heart center.
I love you deeply.
Debbie Lynn is a mother, grandmother, artist, writer, dancer, yogi, rock climber, rock collector, and has been known to run with scissors. She is now sailing the West Indies with her husband on Indigo, their catamaran. She realized at a very young age that the outer reality was a far cry from her inner truth, and meeting her inner wisdom head on always turned into a challenge. The wonderment, curiosity and hypocrisy of life led to exploration and a cumulative documentation (art and journaling) of what she lovingly calls ‘the purge’. It is her way of ridding any negative energy from the daily grind. She says, “In essence, it is a way to start fresh and cleanse the soul.” Debbie has had numerous articles published in The Tattooed Buddha, Elephant Journal, The Edge Magazine, Sail Magazine, Multihulls Magazine and Simple Steps Real Life Magazine. Her daily posts can be found on Facebook.