To keep the door open to one’s heart takes, first, intention.
“I will stay by your bedside, feed you bone broth, and pat your head with a cool, damp rag. I will be your servant, dear heart,” one must say.
To your beat, to your pulsing drum, is the most exalted thing on high. I sing your words. I laugh at your tales. I listen.
Sometimes you are quiet, and I, in turn, must be too. I must accept your slow eddies of current and not rush you or scold you for this. Your contemplative meditation is what I trust.
Sometimes I do not like what you have to say, and I will plug my ears.
For this, I’m sorry.
Your truth singles out the darker parts of my heart, and I shield myself in fear. In time, I grow in my trust of you and your steadfast presence.
Intention is not all that is needed.
In a world of distractions, I must not leave the room. I must stay diligent, my hand always on yours. I must know that even in my greatest fears and chaos, when I connect with you, I am holding your hand, speaking your truth.
My amnesia is not a threat to you. Nor are my shame and needs.
I’ve shown up every way—the faceted diamond that is me—and you are the same.
Unchanged.
There.
I will be both heart and mind, for you as you are for me. Together, we will weave a tapestry the world has never before seen, and they will kneel in awe.
And we will rejoice.
Love, Jaclynn
Leave a Reply