Martha

sometimes you wake up and you don't know where you are. in the night a shabby gypsy train came to your window and stole you and shipped you across the Ocean to california. the Long way. and everything looks so familiar but feels so foreign, that you cannot seem to determine whether it is your body, or your heart- that has shifted.
one may call it a soul vacation, to live and change and not understand completely where you have been but to know that today, for whatever reason, has healed you somewhere somehow. even if just for a moment and even if just a little.

how extraordinary and how grateful i am for the hearts in us that have the capacity to notice the absence of places feelings things and people. to miss and to long for, to have those abilities is a miracle, i feel.
but then again i feel too much.

when your lungs fill with concern and all of the watches are broken, we are brought to that familiar peculiar fragility of life once again. should we pray to be enchanted? should we pray for something so heart shatteringly fleeting? now, is that righteous?
i don't believe that we will ever read enough books or take enough pictures. we will never be done listening and not listening to the wisdom of our mothers. never will we forget some things that we should never have had to remember and at once we will never remember as much as we desire to.
in effort to be and know grace, we must realise that our striving is brought to a screeching halt in it's presence. as mercy pours into our lives, these aches we cling to- the ones of knowing the expectations that we will always never meet- they are swallowed in the sea of salvation.
and at once, she with the violet name,
locks eyes with the S(u)[o]n
and every bruise is laid bare to burning
a discomfort which must be endured
because discipline is so deeply derived from a love
so deeply designed.
and she stands healed and whole.
 and it is time to leave the desert.

Go, live well,
live blessed.