i spoke with a friend in distress this morning. she was feeling rather bleakish. when we got off the phone i remembered my pickaxe. i lost a pregnancy well over three years ago, and in my grief and recovery, i used my pickaxe to help me chip away anything that got in the way of healing. to me at that time, healing was the sparkling ruby embedded in the dark cave wall. i was determined to get there. along the way i found obstacles in my path, most which i had put there myself. the boulders, thorny brambles of confusion, and wayward dead branches were present either to protect me or to remind me of a wound i wanted to hang onto. chop, chop. the axe belonged to my cherished grandpa, and my dad gave it to me a couple of years before the miscarriage. i had used it many times to dig out the granitey hillside we lived on. it was the perfect tool. i would need the help of my wise ancestors to get me to a place of quiet. underneath the rage, disappointment, and heartbreaking sorrow lay the chunky ruby. it held the promise that things would get better. that i would understand what all of this meant in time. that i would be a mom, someday, somehow. so this friend. she's so brave. she shows up on my phone line some mornings dressed for battle. faced with terrible disappointments and loneliness that could leave a person numb forever, she yearns to stay clear, present and accountable to her feelings. i love her so much, for being so bold and courageous, when she could opt to open up an historic hissy fit and take loads of prozac instead. i thank you friend, for showing up and letting me help you. i honor the incredible vulnerability in you. thank you for trusting me, it is the true gift.
time to go to work....*smile*