Crack it Open

My heart and my subconscious tell me that it is Time to write.  But how can I listen?  How can I do this?  For that is too much to bear.  How do I open my heart onto this paper, for if I open it up, even just a crack, it may break and my life, my pain, my loss, my love, my light, may all come gushing out, flooding the paper, the room, the world with so much…so much of Everything.  But my dreams tell me it is time and my body tells me that I cannot hold it all in any longer.  

So here I sit.  To write.  And who will want to listen?  Who will want to read of loss and hurt and loss and pain and loss and hurt again, and again, and of all the love and light in-between?  Readers like to read of Springtime and of Love and of Walks on the Beach and Barefoot Babies who coo and laugh and smile.  And who wants to read of the baby who never got to laugh and of the mother who had to decide when this would be so?  Of the mother who laid herself upon a table and allowed the doctor to use the needle that would stop her baby girl’s beating heart?  And of the baby who came after her whom the mother allowed to live, until she too, also died, a sad and broken death.  Who wants to read of the same mother who held her children’s hands as they walked to say their last goodbyes to their father, who was already gone?  And of the story of the Brothers who are also already gone?  Who can bear to read of such things…?  Maybe the same who have also lived and know that there are always cracks of light in-between.  Maybe they are my readers…  

So, no, this is not a story of laughter and rainbows and sunny walks on the beach.  But, this is the story of the Light in-between.  So, if you think you are my reader, then I will write for you...