None of us goes through the world unscathed and nobody gets out alive.
These are uncomfortable truths that most of us take pains to avoid. How many times have I fled the solitude and questions of inner life for distractions that served to distance me from myself?
Excavating my inner cellar, where I keep my wounds, fears and doubts, isn't comfortable for me. Is it comfortable for anyone?
But in a curious way, I have come to embrace, even cherish, every uncertainty and grief that I find in my personal cellar. It is those discomforts, I believe, that teach and enrich me the most and connect me most intimately with my fellow humans, God and creation.
I give you my latest poem:
Like A Rose
Scars from just living
Wounds new and old
Pockmark and pimple
My body and soul
Unspeakable doubts
Lurk in the dark
And innermost chambers
Of my secret heart
My faith isn't pure
But steady and true
It grows like a rose
From the muck of dank roots
Be well and Good Luck,
Martha Maria