Hollow. It’s how I feel as I begin my walk. I decide that it isn’t a bad feeling. It means that I can be filled. I leave the emptiness alone and note that my legs seem to be at odds with my torso. My body struggles to find a rhythm. I decide to concentrate on something else. I note the rhythm of my breathing. My legs have almost caught up. Feet still complain but in the rhythm there is comfort.
Words slip in and out, through and around. I don’t hang on to any of them. I reach my midway point and smoothly u-turn. I note the tall, magenta-colored flowers. Their graceful spikes puncture the landscape. Then, there on the trail, I spot the wild thing. It is a small wild rabbit. I slow to avoid frightening it. She lets me get within 8 feet before she bounds off in the bushes. I’ve often walked this trail but have yet to find a bunny sitting out in the open waiting for me.
My personal relationship with God and my faith is something I usually keep secret. I’m not comfortable discussing my lifeline to the Divine. Spiritual abuse victims often act this way. I am one.
Yet, the truth remains. God matters to me. Faith matters. Some days it is all I have. And, despite all that has happened to me, to victims of religion everywhere, to the vulnerable, to the weak, I can’t deny that I believe.
Lately, I haven’t felt like a winner. I’ve been trying to fake it. I’m afraid I’ve been too obvious. I’m tired a lot of the time.
“Get up and walk!”
That’s the voice I heard in my head this morning. It was biblical. I’d just shortened John 5:8. Given its potential I wasn’t going to ignore this command.
It has been almost three months since bronchitis moved into my lungs and set up housekeeping. It soon invited its buddy, sinus infection, to take up residence in my head. These two are horrible tenants. I’ve started the eviction process. It’s time for them to get up and walk as well. They are not going quietly or easily.
I am the person behind the words printed here. I write because my heart will not allow me the option of NOT writing. It has taken me half a life time to discover this basic truth, but now that I have, writing is as natural as breathing. This is where my breath takes the form of words.