As I unpack and establish order, each item placed just so, I hold this in my soul and I realize I Don’t Have a Place For This.
It’s something I buried years ago, under the landscape of my soul, beneath the light of day and terrified night, hidden so well I could not recognize it.
And it bubbled to the surface, bobbing to and fro. I banished it to the unclaimed luggage area because it didn’t look like mine. But it wouldn’t go away.
And then the pain of my entire life time…the SOURCE of all things dark and separated that stacked atop one another building the wall of the well of my imprisoned soul, sat there and refused to go away until I picked it up and held it in my hands.
I turned it over…and over.
It didn’t feel right but there was a memory. Vague at first, but building to a crescendo of shattered thoughts flying around the corners of my psyche that told me, yes indeed, this does belong to me.
And now I have it. Uncovered in its black truth and ugly being and I struggle with the reality and as I continue to unpack and place things just so, I realize I Don’t Have a Place For This.