Imagine that big scary thing that cripples your core, walked in to wherever you are right now, sat down across from you and began to speak.
A spider? Snake? Debt? Your boss? The darkest low? The highest heights? HIV?
Mine would be HIV. So I imagined what it would say, if given the chance to present its case. What would I hear as it hauled forth its howl? And theeeen, I get to what I must admit is the consideration that maybe the Bible and its bully wasn’t far off after all… Because I will put everything I own and everything I’m worth on it, that the Mark of the Beast is here: it is our intolerance of that which scares us.
It ends there — I promise. The rest is just your anybody-everybody’s, any-day-any-way, and in the many both mindless and mad ways…
And whether with the courage to salute a secret and set it free — because of how stifling the sanctioning of it is across every silhouette you see… Or with the war cries we walk, waddle or writhe to when we wake up and walk out on worry (for an appointment with wonderful!)…
…our owned magnifying is magic!
Because it is only the owned moments that matter.
Whether you blog, take photos, journal, run, ride, recite, or simply recognise each jostling jolt of your journey by the jeans you wore, looking back is your back-row-all-to-yourself, magical moment — between both the cringing and courage — to bask in how beautiful you are.
I’m a writer by profession, so it’s not always how I want to profess after a day of paid-for-professing. Ergo, I do this #WritingStoriesDifferently thing. And with a Love that is Alive, I thank my Light, everyday, that people like Larissa, Catherine, Gillian, Nundi, Niki, Thato, Gerhard, Kyara, Pam, Lindsay, Linda, Bonnie, Dave, Glynnis, Mel, Natasha, Caddie, Fay, Hayley ‘Ellis’ and Hayley who, when they can – and whether they do or don’t get what I’m ‘saying’ – say something when they see me in it.
So what if no one is listening?! Tell the world – or even just a wall – the story of who you are.
All any of us has is what is in our heart.
And whether you blog, take photos, journal, run, ride, recite, or simply recognise each jostling jolt of your journey by the jeans you wore, whenever you slide through them sludge-moments of feeling small (and you will), just look at what has touched every. single. jostle. you’ve. journeyed – ever!
Compressed Compassions │ 1st Look