Prayer for Healing

Deep in my heart there lives a little hollow. The shape no larger than what can easily be hidden in circumstance. Like a little drift away, like a non-belonging, which I shepherd tenderly about from day to day. A seed of sadness, the brand of some forgotten sin, and in its hidden lumpiness the guilty suspicion that I have no right to exist. Though all about is peace and stillness, like this little farm with its fresh covering of snow, I bleed from this secret hollow, in drops down a murky drain.

But with each new cycle the dross is cleared away, and like tender skin revealed, I once again stand shivering and pink, raw, sore and unfamiliar to my surroundings. Remembering art this time, catching the end of lengthy sun-downs, and slowly igniting love and expression.

Wondering at how poignantly the little hollow wants for real femininity. Always chasing it or denying the fabled specter in turn, feeling more Valkyrie than missus; tempestuous, recklessly valiant, sacrificing. A fighter, indelicate. A wanderer, reclusive. Ablaze with my own passions, though longing to serve in utter surrender, to burn away ego in the fire of the front lines. Gladly I’d give my being for my cause, if only life could be as simple. But the more difficult battle is the one which preserves the fighter, heals her as she laughingly removes that which hinders her salvation, and sends her onwards whole. Preserved, rejuvenated, bettered, filled, complete, alive, free.

Would that I will freely join this fight, and in walking away from the pain I pin myself down to, find joy.