I spent years praying for friends. Opening my heart in faith and trust that many guests would sit at the table of my love, ready to give and receive in joy.
And this is the story of who I met on that journey.
The first friend I met was a breathtaking, rather intimidating woman. Her name was Grief.
So far she has guided me through one powerfully transformative part of my life, showing me, little by little the raging ocean that lives within, teaching me just how potent my love is. How much I matter.
She stepped into all the cracks in my foundation, carefully pointing out how to build anew. She showed me how each choice I made rang like a hammer… insignificant noise in the moment, the difference between protection and destruction when the future came knocking.
She taught me what I deserved…lovingly drawing back the curtain of trauma and denial, exposing my birthright of love, truth, wholeness, and competency.
She held me, a strong life boat in the waves of chaos and rippling throbs that ebbed and flowed through my belly as the veils peeled away. She taught me that the truth is hard to stomach, and that I am powerful enough to digest the wrenches it throws in my gut.
She introduced me to a creature there in my depths, that began to escape through my voice, a force I had never encountered in myself. It was me.
Night after day I heard myself for the first time – beautiful, tearing wails radiating from my belly, echoing back from the walls around me. “I am here.” They said. “I belong.”
She also introduced me to her younger sister, Pain, who started rather stand off ish. Slowly as we spent more time together she opened up. She opened my heart to humanity, to myself, to all the questions that matter. As we bonded she revealed herself to be a compass of portals, weaving me in and out of everything I’d never knew I needed.
It wasn’t long before these sisters were visited by their cousin Rage, who came from a place whose accent I wasn’t entirely familiar with. Quietly, and with an ease and grace I’d never before witnessed, she lit a match and threw it into the pile of lies Grief had helped me collect. Many days we passed in sacred silence watching the hungry flames devour my past, and every cage that ever dared put it’s hands around my neck.
One day, linked arm in arm, these two guided me towards a sweet little cafe where Dignity was sitting and sipping on the patio. She immediately stood up and took me in her arms as I sobbed my homecoming. “There now dear one, I will not let you leave my sight again.”
Her words were pillows for my weary heart.
And so we sat together, peaceably enjoying the sunshine and cappuccino until twilight, when Strength emerged from the cafe door.
I had been expecting her, yet her appearance shocked me. Far from the bitter and rigid lines I had anticipated in her face, she looked soft – dare I say, girlish? – a peaceful, shy smile peaking out as she caught my eye.
“Not what you were expecting, eh?” she said softly as she pulled up a chair.
“Thank GOD,” I replied, melting into my seat.
Now we are a tight knit unit, with so many other friends who come and join our dance parties, our silent star gazing, late night walks, and quiet afternoon mediations.
Like any close knit group, we’ve rubbed off on each other.
Strength runs her fingers along my cheekbones,
Dignity braces my neck, straight and tall,
and my voice rings strong and supple thanks to Rage and Grief.
Each day I rest with a belly satisfied by the nourishment Pain provides.
Wildness electrifies my movements and
Playfulness tickles the dimples out of my cheeks.
Grace drapes herself lightly over me, the softest robe a women could wish for.
Each day we walk the earth together with footsteps of peace and power, becoming one.
The Eye of the Needle 