To sit with one, who no longer has a need to defend, is to sit with one who opens doors. He gives the knob a slight turn, and your find your heart, once again, opening to trust. It is as if he knows that the best of you will make the best of him. For one life always affects the other.
The contemplative one has tired of excuses and repeated flailing against fixed walls. Her welcoming embrace gives witness to, as you lay out the sorted pieces of your life.
She cracks the windows for Spirit’s fresh breeze to blow within. And whether for a shared joy, beaming forth as the illuminating sun or torrents of pain, spilling out like water from a capsized boat, she is present, holding the space.
Eventually, Spirit’s river calls and as you float, the lightness suggests that trust in the Sacred is enough. Standing firm once felt right, but now the weightlessness of the buoy, to which your boat was moored, seems the better.
Explanations were solid anchors until the answers, in unbending tones, began sounding like slamming doors, and not to a cold, wintery night, but to all of the what ifs inside of you, to mystery, life and love.