July 26th: “these chains are the sound of every time I was broken and put back together,,” we’re told, as a symphony of chains clashes around a warrior leading us down a marshy path. Ready for the fight and also tender, we proceed with red eyes, pink faces, protruding veins out onto the blank canvas of individual desire.
Entitled, whining toddlers accompany us, tucked under our arms, roaring with the need to be loved into the heart’s insatiable void. The urges seem too big for us, too grand and boastful for any foundation to hold.
Think of a bridge, expanding when hot, contracting when cold, collapsing from a failure at both of its extremes. Think then of installing joints into concrete to regulate cracking.
The schisms in our bodies and souls today groove our awareness toward the dark bottom of wants and needs. The joints that crack with the downpours and heat form a via negativa, the righteous quakes of urgency a road to knowing our faults.
Like roads, our souls, too, have grooves to map the way, to sustain ourselves through the anguish of growing and shrinking.