You found yourself, despite months of effort, inside a carapace. Wearing a breast plate. Crack it open, it said. But my finger tips couldn't find a purchase and would have likely lacked the strength anyway.
I saw myself ready for burial and shed no tears in letting that me go. So much time in miserable thought, it said. Lower the body, dressed in a suit, down into the hole. Spend your time another way going forward, Born Again.
I spoke with other people. There were hugs. Getting beyond judgment and performance and separation sometimes only takes a little speaking and a little listening. Everyone has a story. Everyone has a wound that would make you love them if you knew about it.
The bright moon climbed higher as I got closer to home and to ordinary.
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