Broken Pitcher

When the looming gray sky drips, and your heart drips and your soul leaks, and everything is wet and you stand in the downpour and you cry out "enough, enough"...  And you don't know which way is up.  And all around turns sour and even sweetness turns to gall.  And salty tears meet dreary raindrops and floods rise to the brim and the heart tips and spills out, pours out, unable to contain another blasted drop and swells rise and tides rise and overtake and breech the boundaries - causing comfort to run, so you shut down. - too much.  You are too much.  And lead walls rise to break the tide  and quell the flood  and salty tears, now inward flow  and wet from grief, wet from life,  dry mutedly, out of sight. And all is well, at least it seems and quietly, yes quietly,  peace comes to comfort in her dreams. Yet in the darkness waves do rise and beat upon her heart at night and silently, her heart does break  and in the ...

So much life has come and gone since I last posted here that knowing where to start has been elusive.  Today though, things of old have been revived and new knowledge unveiled light that illuminated the path behind and before me.  So I  start in this moment, this day and look forward.  Not to the left or to the right.  I am set this day, full faced, ready to embrace this new journey, this new life - no matter what it may hold, this journey of becoming...  Journey of becoming.  These words struck a chord so deep in me as the words rose from the page that it reached back many years and awoke a childhood dream.  "Becoming" has been a word over me for a few months now and even as theses words are penned a conversation comes to mind in which I shared that I felt that "I was becoming who I never wanted to be."  And in fact, it is in part, truth.  So, pardon the sidebar, but what does one call one who has had to bury her child?  A spou...