Her

I see her through a window, through a canvas, through the eyes of her lovers. She is elegant and desperate. She holds tightly to her heart until it breaks free from her grasp. She’s too proud to run after it. Her gaze is defiant, her face unsmiling studying you for a trace of honor, authenticity, hope. She is guarded. Her body flirts with you, legs splayed provocatively in candlelight, hair falling around her breasts. Naked and guarded all at once. Hips curve in soft brush strokes, suggesting skin soft to the touch of lips. She leans back on her right palm as if she is awaiting your arrival. Calm as a heavy conch shell, she is a secret you think you know. Dark flashing eyes dare you to wonder about the spirit behind them, the thoughts masked by her exposed physique. She’s too much. Desired, celebrated even, alone. The canvas hosts no other. Candle flames blow and beckon, dancing around a moment frozen by oil paint. Mischievous, embellishing, enchanting, they illuminate her vulnerability.

Look at the Serpent Biting you

“If you want to be healed, you must look at the thing biting you.” His  voice resonated calmly like he was patiently explaining something to a child. Is that how God feels? I thought. We run around with serpents and then cry for a bandaid when he already has a remedy posted in bronze. 

 

Today she said I reach out sexually when I don’t feel safe. “Don’t confuse safety.” What a mess. Has this always been my refuge? A false shelter of temporary safety that falls apart and ultimately leaves me exposed to the elements? Rain seeping through my skin and streaking strands of hair to my face and I can’t even open my eyes without taking in dense drops. Sigh. Breathe in like Leah’s yoga class and get real, real really down to the business of me. Exhale. Let grains of sand sift through and look at what is left. A snakebite. Somehow in downward dog I can take it in curiously and objectively, like its not part of my body. 

Just as I am, without One plea. My dad said that is true. God I know it is. Thank you. You are the rain. Help me know which is the bronze serpent and which is the real thing. Wash away the serpents that bite me. To look at yourself and your snakebites and your serpents is ugly so get ready girl.

I close my eyes and move the pose. My body is settling into itself; movements melt into each other. I flex my toes and draw fresh oxygen into my lungs, my chest rises to receive it. I am aware of you, heart. I hope you are aware of me.

Soft, glistening, glittering snow falls in fluffy flakes through the dark air. I am driving and from the warm comfort of my driver’s seat, I have a fascinating view stopped at an intersection. As the confetti precipitation passes the beam of the red street light, it takes on a pink hue. This kind of snow is totally magical. 

I have seen snows like this before. I remember one in particular last year when I was leaving a coffee shop on a Sunday evening, my thoughts and my heart tortured with the burden of a broken heart. I looked up in the dark Starbucks parking lot and felt peace as the snow kissed my face. Illuminated by the lights in the lot, the snow resembled the tinsel on my parents Christmas tree. I prepared to head back to their home (where I was staying) and my angst just melted away. I felt enchanted by the sparkling weather and realized that my family was not an estranged husband but the people keeping a light on for me in their home.