You think you’re way, way past a thing, and It wells up again.
Despair. The Questions, Did I miss it? What could I have done differently?
Over, and over, and over again. For a day, or so.
And then you forget. For a month, or maybe a year or so.
But a dream comes in the night; you can’t control its coming.
This isn’t helpful, this isn’t healing, this isn’t doing anything but digging up Past,
who has passed – long passed – so there is no purpose for this.
Frustration. Inner Critic on the loud speaker: what is wrong with you? Move on.
But I have. I promise I have.
Place hand on Critic’s shoulder and say with kindness learned over times and times again: nothing is wrong with me. My heart is alive. It’s beating. It’s open. It’s remembering.
Grace. For what I do not, cannot understand. For my precious heart, that I beat into submission for too long. For my thoughts, that are still learning to bow their knee to their Leader.
Grace in all things.