My Dear Guardian Angel,”R”
Well? What’s up with all the despair stuff?
Here’s this, Miss: Others cannot bear your pain, but you can. You always resurface, bobbing up like a cork with a smiley face. (Ok, sorry for that.)
But you know what I mean.
It is not their life – when they experience a slam-dunk of emotion, they have their own words. You manage to put it out there &, as you said, to share & show your care. Your plea for help will not go unnoticed & it will say for others what they cannot.
Others may witness, but they may not take the wheel of the boat to steer you into harbor, nor push you to do so. They can point, like the Ghost of Christmas Future, but only that.
If your vision is locked down in emotion, you’ll not perceive this at all. That’s perfectly okay. The words are given to you in their order & for their reasons. It is intent, one of the ways you bring about Change.
Yesterday was about letting go. The hotbath, the talk, the feelings, the scouring of Rose’s shop which yielded little to nothing. One small disappointment followed another – losing all your emails…unanswered questions…a crazy day for you, my anal-retentive Child.
Now you can work out that comedy routine you need to polish off for Open Mic this last Friday. Roads are clear & paths opened of obstacles Put up the fliers, hand out the broadsheets, laugh & beat the dream of the Future with a big stick, for it has brightened with the wash of your pain.
For those who console you, give thanks. They will smile to hear of your returned good cheer. This cloud has passed over your sun. you made it sound like the storm of the ages, but all that’s left is shining.
Soon the world changes: it will no longer be edged in darkness. The light will be brighter than you’ve ever seen, for the Father has taken up the polish & the Mother has surrendered her apron to dance.
Think of it as expressing the Community Angst. Give thanks the job of Sin-Eater has changed to writing words!
Don’t limit yourself to one kind of music. The blessing of your words is for all. You are the tool we use to focus, & if others catch fire, so be it. You have not been burned…blessing enough for this midnight.
Be well, my Little Old Lady. You make a fine wordsmith & your craft is sharp with unexpected Light, that all who wish to, see.
“Write on,” to coin the phrase yet again, stamping a new face upon the currency – write on.