Tears don’t callus.

They say children who’s parents die when they’re young cry more readily.

I think about things like that - especially before or after therapy.  Been in and out over various things mainly because we evolved as a result of our disposition to connect.  

And that’s what an orphan (even half orphan) understands.

Old wound.  Feels like a Scarlet letter sometimes.  Can I ever put my story down?  Just be ...alive ...in a moment?

So I strive to connect.  I reach out all the time.  I’ve learned the wisdom of closing doors but I never keep them locked.  I pause.  I reflect.  I listen to the universe’s messages now.  I love my new faith.  I come back when I can.

The cover of the jacuzzi blows over me in my morning meditation.  

Scares the shit out of me because it felt like a reminder of the inevitable.  Time could be up.

Worked.  That’s just what I needed to get out of my narrative and experience a moment.

Listen to me... jacuzzi.  People are dying out there.  What have I to complain about?

You have a right to be happy.  

Does feel lately like I’m getting pinned to a cross.  I see anger, I assuage anger... I’m not allowed to be angry though.  I still apologize before I’m sorry.  But I am sorry.

Nanette.  What genius.  What dynamic unfolding of the wisdom beyond?

Just shared a unique perspective on my grandma with her estranged daughter (my aunt).  Very likely a mistake because she may focus on some small unintended slight not appreciate that I’m on my journey too,  But I tried my best to convey it honestly and without harm.  Keeps me growing.  Reflecting now I can see possible purpose in my truth if it in anyway sparks a thought of forgiveness between them.  Perhaps that might help heal the decades of strife they shared.

Decades they shared.

I cry again.  Drop of hat.  Hot fresh tears pouring over my first wound.

Tears don’t callus.

You know what I mean.