Flowers on Sunday Begin Again

I’ve almost stopped crying every day.  Although yesterday I did a writing exercise that unexpectedly made me so, so sad I cried for an hour – but before that I didn’t cry the whole day.  And I only cried a little today.

I take this as a sign the tears are almost done with their work.  I think their work is to help me land where I am.  To reconnect the neglected places back to the current of hearbeats and self awareness, circulating with fresh rain.  To remake the map of tributaries, now free to run to the ocean.

It was always an illusion to think we could see forward into life, with our resolutions and intentions aimed at the straw man of the same, familiar troubles. The only approach I can think of now is to be open.  Not open to the silver lining, or sour jolts of truth.  Just open to the next thing.  That seems like the simplest way to keep going.

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