Morning Prose

2.7.26

In the darkness of night, there are no secrets to tell. They all come up, seeking air.

They wander around your bedroom, haunting the corners of the ceiling.

In the darkness of night, there are no secrets to tell. They march proudly about.

One twirls in a dress feeling free before she becomes a banshee engulfing you in fear.

Another will crouch by your head complaining loudly about everything you have ever done wrong.

In the darkness of night there are no secrets to tell.

The night embraces our darkest fears. She prods them to make an appearance.

Our medicine is to sit up and take notice. Wrap your arms around them and bring them home.

Embraced, they lose all their strength. They melt back into your own heart, transformed.

Love is like that.

She can hold you. Love you. Ease your deepest hurts. She will embrace what you think is your most vile secrets and show you how they are your biggest strengths.

In the darkness of night, there are no secrets to tell. Let them parade about. Witness in wonder. And then love them fiercely.

Because what feels like black marks upon your soul are really the stuff that will make you whole, strong and brave.

These things make us warriors of the dark. They make us warriors of the light. They make us balanced, humble, courageous and great.

In the darkness, the mother is showing us. It is the chosen ones who suffer. It is the little children that delight in easy lives. They are meant to. They are children and cannot handle yet the fire that is forging the metal of your ancient soul.