"To feel..."

the blade sings a
red wail across
her wrist and "finally..."
she thinks as
she sinks to the tile
floor of a lonely
room,
"...finally, i feel..."

This is all she
wants...

this dark waif with
hollow eyes...

She longs to feel something,
anything
beyond the emptiness,
the blindness of a
sorrow so overwhelming that it seeps from
the cold echo
of her
entombed heart.

She strains to hear
a sound
above the silent
scream that is
lodged in her tight throat...
it aches with the effort
to hold back tears of
anguished
despair

A red wail
escapes her arm and
for too brief a moment,
she hears herself
in
the throbbing,
pulsing
music of her pain.

"oh, blessed pain," she
weeps,
"i am alive,
i feel..."


But sweet
girl,
gentle
boy,
quiet
woman...
longing
soul...
don't you
see that the
very aching
which makes you
hungry for the
blade
is a feeling,

in and of itself....

This hunger to feel...something,
anything...
to be alive to your self,
to expereince even a single moment of
your living

is evidence that
you are not alone,
empty,
dead to the sound of
your own singing...

There is a voice in you
more insistent
than that secret,
silent scream

it says,

"be,

be you...

feel,

feel Me..."

hear this voice
of your
being

feel your
oneness with Her

feel the divinity
within
you...

it is God singing to Herself...

and She never
asks you to
settle
for a single moment of
pain
in order to feel...

She offers you the sword of Truth,
that reaches beyond flesh or blood to
the heart of grace...where
a persistent
peace,
a lasting joy,
an enduring
love...
flows unbidden

feel Her heartbeat,
coursing
within
you....
it pulses with
promise

a kingdom of heaven
a river of love,
a seamless joy
always within...