sitting inside ourselves is the hardest part when we peel away the layers each one tasting of sunshine or bitter herbs, muslin or steel…  we move down into the basement of our caverns and discover shining jewels amid the heartache and tender covered wounds…  there is peace enough in the space that we can sit with it and hold it if we try…  and tumble down with weeds our sloping landscapes resting in the basin of our grand canyon…  it is in this groundlessness that we discover our effulgence and beauty and in the discovery that we feel fully our own deepest disappointments and perceived failures…  we are always waiting at the tracks for the train to cross that never does until we step foot on the rail….  and when we are plummeted by the force of our inner high-speed line, we may begin to understand the stand-still of our hearts in moments of unearthing…  our pain itself is not suffering but if we choose to paint it over with colors and whiskey we may not understand that in time to see that the pain is always lined with gold and stars and whispers of the sunshine under the horizon….

sitting inside ourselves is the hardest part.