revisiting closure

So.

Say you are injured deeply. Cut to the core and then split right through,
so you can see the sky through your middle.

And it really, really hurts, so much so that you're not quite sure you can stand it.

And it keeps on hurting.

Daily.
Hourly.
Every blessed, pained minute.

Sometimes you have to concentrate on breathing just so the seconds can pass.

Some might suggest that you let the wound be stitched up.
Close it up so that you can't even tell it's there

(well, except for the big scar and the dented-in hollow place)

and try to act like it didn't happen.
Patch it, spackle it, and move on, Missy!

But you have a fascination with what's been exposed.
And you don't want to act like it didn't happen
Or that you are the same.

So you tend and clean the wound, and it does heal.
But you don't let it close up.

And if you do that,
do you then have a special window into your innermost center?
A place you can expose to others, if you have a mind to, and say

Look, I was wounded like this, but I can still walk around, and isn't that cool?

A lens through which you can catch glimpses of the eternal?
Can it be a good thing?
Or even a thing of beauty?

Is the opposite of closure

An opening?

Today's lovely words are leant to us by Julie, a dear friend and mama to starborne Ward. She peppers her blog with poetry so familiar it calms and electrifies me all at once, and with thoughts on meditation, visions, gratitude, and staying open to cross-dimensional love.

If you'd like access to Julie's newly private blog (the reason for which is happily explained within), email us here at Glow and we'll pass you along to her.