Resilience (a poem about courage & the power of hope)

Fear. Tears. Blood.

Yet I am here, still.

Hunger, it hurts. Thirst, unquenchable.

Yet I am here, still.

Ache.

Yet I am here, still.

There is nothing.

Yet I am here, still.

Betrayed. It is unnecessary.

Yet I am here, still.

Do you know what I've done?

Yet I am here, still.

I do not want to acknowledge what I have seen.

There is not enough room in my heart for all of that pain.

Yet I am here, still.

Broken.

Yet I am here, still.

I risk hoping.

Thus I am here, still.

packing light

Failure, guilt, bitterness, and fear, I'm learning, prove to be about as useful as a suitcase full of rocks. All it really does is weigh you down. And these feelings, like rocks, add no value to your trip, your adventure...your journey. They bring nothing to your destination but what they are...a suitcase full of rocks.


And they're heavy.  


I have a rather large suitcase full of rocks. I've been carrying it around for years. Literally. I think I was about 4 years when I picked up the first rock and put it, quite naturally, into my first little suitcase. I believe that first rock was guilt. 23 years later my suitcase is pretty full.


I'm quite attached to my rocks, I'm learning. They've been with me as long as I can remember, and I'm not sure I know what to do without them. Or how to get rid of them. But I'm tired of carrying this lifeless thing around. It's heavy. Sometimes it makes me not want to explore all that there is to discover in this life. I'm tired, I no longer care to add to its contents, nor do I wish to continue carrying what's inside.


So my resolution this year: I will pack light. Or I should say, I'll attempt to pack lighter. Anyone who knows me, knows that I ALWAYS over pack. I'm always worried about running out or not being prepared. So this resolution has its physical manifestation, I will literally try not to bring so much stuff. And its heart manifestation, I'll get rid of my rocks.


I am letting go.


Don't worry, I know how idealistic it sounds. I'm being realistic at the same time. I will still feel. But I don't need to collect rocks and stow them away for keeps. I will feel anger, and I will feel pain. But my hope is that my tears will not turn to rocks for me to carry. But rather, that they will roll off my cheeks like a faithful tear should after a good cry.


I will travel light, but I'll still travel. This year I hope to pack strength and courage. Joy and love. Hope and lofty ideals.