The mountains are crying today.

Do you know how much water has to fall out of the sky

to see Mother Nature’s tears tumble down her rugged face?

I don’t know how many gallons per minute that is

because that’s a lot of math.

But I do know the symbol for infinity,

and it feels like no algebraic equation could give an answer

to the amount of water that’s fallen on my own aged face.

The mountains are crying today.

Do you know how long it takes for enough water to soak the earth

for a waterfall to suddenly appear like a magic trick?

I don’t know how torrential the storm has to be

because that’s a lot of weather.

But I do know the climate of heartbreak,

and it feels like it’s been a forecast of one disappearing act after another

since everything that seemed solid became different in a moment.

The mountains are crying today.

Do you know how heavy a force falling water can be

when it travels an unrestrained line and strikes the ground?

I don’t know what that is pounds per square inch

because that’s a lot of pressure.

But I do know the impact of grief,

and it feels like forever since I’ve stepped on a scale

to see how much loss actually weighs.

The mountains are crying today.

Do you know how quickly a landscape can transform

into a hillside that’s mostly made of water?

I don’t know how many hours it takes

because that’s a lot of time.

But I do know something about healing,

and it feels like my body has been the mountain that’s always known

whenever it is my soul needs to cry like a waterfall.

In the darkest dark

where shadows fail to form,

therein dwells a truth,

long forgotten in the storm.

In the deepest deep

where everything is pain and grief,

therein lies a secret,

a promise of sweet relief.

In the quietest quiet

where no one else can hear,

therein lies a voice,

one who listens through the tears.

In the lightest light

where those you love reside,

therein remains what you can trust

the truth, the secret, the voice inside.

In the loveliest love

where letting go is real and right,

therein exists kindness and grace,

yours and mine - our heart light.

Bloodied Love

- The Beginning of a Life Reimagined -

How does the heart mend after breaking so hard?

When four connected ventricles are suddenly severed

and breath becomes ragged and rhythm barely has a beat,

mending offers no visible path,

but as you slowly learn how to live through and with that which was shattered, mending begins.

Bloodied love breaks your heart open how to heal for the rest of your life.

How does the mind remember the voice of its beloved?

When birdsongs cease to be beautiful

and most sounds are annoying and all the noise is inside your own head,

remembering isn’t an easy task, but as you recognize what is real and what is not, remembering begins.

Bloodied love reminds you how to listen well to the wisdom within.

How does the body believe it will dance another day?

When no shadow is cast because there is only floor

and stillness is an empty nothing and movement isn’t possible because of the pain,

believing won’t lighten the dark, but as you sit with everything you fear, believing begins.

Bloodied love illuminates how to have faith in your own resilience.

How does the soul know the unanswerable questions?

When trust and honesty have been obliterated

and all your identities have dissolved and the ghost of who you were appears,

knowing won’t ease the turmoil, but as you stop asking why and accept what is, knowing begins.

Bloodied love proves how your presence remains the ineffable truth.

How does the life reimagined love again?

When the unbearable ache of sorrow feels like death

and the loss of a dream and the grief of a facade feels like the end,

reimagining doesn’t bring comfort, but as you continue to let go of what was never yours, reimagining begins.

Bloodied love shows you how to forgive and fully be free.