Your Sacred Place

One day, you too shall find your sacred place. Give me your hand and I'll press your palm on your beating heart. Feel that? Close your eyes and hear it. That sound, it says clear as day, "You are alive. Be alive." Even if it means you sit through pain. Alone.  Some compasses only work when it's smashed to fragments and put together piece by piece.

If only I can hold you tight enough or long enough for you to feel that the world makes sense again, that every thing you are makes sense, that you are enough and that you have a purpose. Then I would. But I only have two hands and my arms are too small for how big your heart is. Your heart, remember, is bigger than your grief. And no matter how hard I try to wrap my arms around you there will always be that place where I cannot reach, no one can reach, except you.

So my heart breaks for what you are going through right now. Because this is all I can do-- write and write until this fist in my own heart loosens, wondering when it does, will it loosen yours too?

You will find your sacred place. I don't know how or when or where. All I know is you'll know it when you see it. Like that ray of light seeping through the cracks of a broken vase. It will come through. When that happens, you will come through.

“Someone I loved once gave me a box full of darkness. It took me years to understand that this too, was a gift.”

― Mary Oliver

(Photo taken in Malitbog, Southern Leyte, Philippines)