I have never been to war to fight for freedom.
But I have crossed onto foreign soil
to take a stand.
I have never walked in your shoes
or experienced what you have.
But I have walked in mine.
I have not seen for my own eyes
the devastation of what you have.
But I have seen pictures that attempt to capture history.
I can tell you this.
You are brave.
You have walked, or been carried and even may still want to die.
You may feel so much grief that it grips you unexpectedly
in moment of great distress.
You may do your best to try and not see the images playing reruns in your mind,
yet they still may only appear more vivid in the darkness of night.
You are alive, breathing.
They taught you. Broke you.
To be strong.
To keep your emotions in check.
Now only to be encouraged to share and feel all that seems so hard to reach.
Why am I alive?
Why not me instead of him or her?
Would I be better off dead,
then here right now feeling half alive?
Seeing helplessness in the mirror.
Reflected back in another eyes.
How could she begin to possibly understand
or write about something that may bring hope or offer insight…
when the furthest she has ever been away from home by herself was 700 miles?
She does know of heart ache and loss.
Of loosing people close to her due to accidents and sickness. Old age.
She has seen the devastation of cancer.
The ravageous of a disease eating away at her papa’s once handsome face.
She has her own hidden emotional scars of feeling inadequate and afraid.
Feeling deep empathy for others that at times she cannot separate from herself.
Yet, she sits here in the bright morning sunlight.
Hearing the distance roar of the neighbors mower’s.
The song of birds outside her window.
How does this bring hope? Offer insight?
Through wielding of her pencil as it etches its way across the page.
Why is she sitting here alone?
With a thought so distant from what she woke up with.
To write with such conviction
on a topic she feels strangely drawn to…
The long held sorrow that carries itself within you for a love, a life you will never fully know again.
“Yet I write.”
As if I know first hand the battle scars you carry buried deep inside your soul.
Darkening your spirit of trust.
I see your pictures on facebook in my minds eyes of fishing in Montana.
Connecting with the most nurturing force of nature. Mother Earth.
I applaud your bravery.
To take another breathe.
To take another step, however painful.
To take another chance.
High Five to you the Trusting Warrior!
Inspired by a Facebook post, TRUST that I had scrolled upon
This is what I wrote as my hand surged across the page.
Tears of reverence wanting to break free. To trust this moment.
©2015 Photo Te’ Klickitat Trail, WA
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