When the wind dances with the water, you can move the world across the ocean

I’m fearful of sounding cliche. I’ve ingested enough words from enough people who wrote better than I would ever write ,( if I died and came back around the wheel as a writer.) that I feel anything I have to say has been said better by someone else, a thousand times over.

Now that I’ve gotten that disclaimer out of the way, this:

Sometimes when I look at my husband’s face, it feels in my heart like he is the ocean. Vast and dark and knowable, but difficult and filled with secret movements.

Then I remember that I am the wind,and I move freely over the surface of the deep.



Nearly all of my comfort has always stemmed from my acceptance of my discomfort. Pain has always served as the invisible needle binding the fabric of myself to the backing of reality. I’m not speaking of the pain that we choose, but of the pain that I cannot avoid. 
Nerve pain, joint pain, the weight of mistakes. These are the things that bind me to the world and keep me from floating away.

Where I have found acceptance, I have always found joy.