underneath the anger, the rage, is the raw, soft belly of pain… it demands no explanation, no justice for past transgressions, no need of vengeance… does not desire assigning of blame or even restoration of order… but simply the freedom to spill forth, with abandon, with complete fullness the dark depth of its well… reservoir of secrets, silence, sorrow… the grief so threatening, so risky, so common to her that she somehow forgot how to feel it.
and here i am again… trying to get around it, skirt the rawness, the reality with the right words… think instead of actually feel… anything but to wade through it… sit with it, stay with it, with myself without DOING anything.
i keep bumping up against this overwhelming desire to fix it, figure it out so that i can be finished… when the point is to become who i am as an actual feeling being…
