There
is something painfully magical about wounds.
Whatever
nature or origin,
they
have a purpose.
In
that messy, deep, raw wound
there
lies profoundly buried the seed of healing.
Sometimes
the seed grows rapidly and relief is soon found.
Sometimes
the seed needs a cycle of nature's elements,
to
nudge the germination,
with
subsequent closure,
and
scar as a reminder.
However
there are wounds that somehow,
they
will never stop bleeding,
or
stop being mind shatteringly painful,
beyond
any words
or
gestures.
Only
tears are allowed,
sometimes,
some
days.
It
is in that alchemical moment,
where
tears meets silent haemorrhage,
winds
of compassion and salty water
forges
fiery metal,
and
the eternal bleeding
becomes
a sea
of
silent awareness,
and
the will to overcome.
