My passengers escaped unscathed. I was trapped, face down, beneath the vehicle. The ground felt warm and welcoming under me. The weight of the vehicle on my back was a comfort. I closed my eyes and hummed, almost purred. I could hear my passengers, frantic and worried and scrambling to find help for me. I knew that eventually I would be rescued but I hoped it would not come too soon. I'd found a sweet, private resting place and was in no hurry to leave.
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Don't offer me Hope. Don't ask me to give you Hope. Hope is a distraction. Hoping exhausts me. I want to do what I do not hoping that it will make anything better but believing that it is the right thing to do.
". . .When water gets trapped in habitual whirlpools, dig a way out through the bottom to the ocean. There lies a secret medicine given only to those who hurt so hard they can't hope. If the hopers knew, they feel slighted . . ."
ReplyDeletePerhaps my all time favorite lines from Rumi!
If this was my dream, I'd feel cared for, deeply affirmed, and somewhat fearless having rest once again amongst the ruins.