Turning the other cheek..

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This was always a hard pill to swallow.  Even as a child, upon hearing that phrase for the first time, while I could understand the idea of not reciprocating harm, I certainly was not down with the thought of giving anyone the opportunity to harm me twice.  It was just going to be one of those things that looked pretty on paper.  For me, it was an idea to aspire to in principle form only.  On some deep, DEEP level that I’d never actually have to come in contact with.  Until one day in the shower..

I was thinking about changing my mind on things.  Literally trying to see and envision words, phrases, and ideas in other ways, and this particular phrase came to mind.  Turning the other cheek..

Now for some reason, I’d always figured it meant allowing harm of some nature without retaliation.  Right?

If someone says something rude, “turn the other cheek.”

Someone steals your parking space, “turn the other cheek.”

Things start to get a little more uncomfortable when it hits closer to the skin.  A little more unacceptable.  If someone breaks your heart, what then?  Turn the other cheek?  For how long?  And how many times?

I don’t know where the permission had been hiding, but somewhere inside it clicked that there could be another meaning for this phrase for me.  And while it may not resonate for everyone, it made such clear sense.

For me, turning the other cheek could mean looking in the other direction.  Not in avoidance! I want to make that clear, but rather looking into a new possibility.  As if to say, “that’s enough now, I’m moving on.”

And again, I’ve given myself the permission to think this way.

I’m learning to allow myself the gift of turning the other cheek.  Allowing myself the opportunity to look into a more positive light.

Saying “no more” to a negative space that’s become too comfortable.

Turn the other cheek.

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He’d been seen

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He knew he’d been seen when the space around him warmed, familiar.

When words gave their rights away to a silence that steadied his racing pulse,

and straightened the curve of his spine.

His heart having kept pace with hurried breathing.

Breath catching up to speeding thoughts – rowing backwards in time

to find where he’d missed his calling.

Back to where his name stopped feeling like the center of him

and started feeling like the outskirts of his best intentions.

And then to have it melt away..

Peeled back.

The weighted rush of day-to-day invisible,

forced to retreat

and bow before a strength of kindness so bright

that it cut through all of his darkness.

But dark comes first..

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Walk along, dear heart

and meet again the places that you’ve been.

Retell old stories of past steps.

Steps now covered in the shadows of those who feel they are alone.

Wandering shadows,

their comforts out of reach,

while their exposed feet slide unsure into the impressions that your stumbling once left behind.

Their puzzled faces,

wrapped around minds which have not adjusted to the change they feel

yet cannot see.

For the dark clarity that swaddles their future selves, holds fast.

That unyielding darkness.

The great defender of the precious sublime,

not to be seen on this side of the mountain.

Walk along side them, dear heart.

Tell them that the dark keeps company with light

and protects it against any foe.

Old friends they,

taking turns at introducing themselves,

but dark comes first.

So stand with them, dear heart.

Stay close to those wanderers.

Stay until the light reassures its protector

that all is well.

Through laced fingers

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Before her hope could run away,

before it could wrestle free from the need that had it surrounded,

before it could unravel the dreams it had made,

dreams sewn into place by the line that held together the horizon,

dreams that cinched the gap between earth and sky,

she clasped that hope in her hands.

Felt the weight of it buckle her knees.

Rethreaded what had come undone between laced fingers,

and laid her heart upon it.

And unwittingly found herself reenacting a scene from her childhood.

The picture of her younger self

learning the language of angels.

Open doors

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There was a pause in the darkness.

A space where light ran its warmth through shadow,

silently breaking it in two.

Stretching out long across a floor it didn’t know,

in hopes of becoming a path where lost feet could find their way out.

Waiting to be stepped into

to fill eyes adjusted to the dark with the sunlight sparkle they deserved.

To color in rose those cheeks bathed in tears,

and set right the wrong of too long a nightfall.

This would be the day where hope would meet the promise of opened doors.

Where light would flood in to find the one who called her,

and the point of turning would begin to reveal itself –

only a step away.

Followers / Help

Hi everyone! I just wanted to update you on a problem that I was having here on wordpress. I seem to have lost all of my followers.  😦 I was wondering if anyone else has had this problem, and also wanted to say that if you are having trouble seeing posts of mine, please check and see if you’re still following my blog. I’m wondering if the problem is only showing up on my end.

Sorry about this. I’ll be checking in with wordpress support to see if there is any way to get readers back.

Thanks,

Devan

Two hands

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A hand had been extended in his direction.

And at the time, it felt like the world was reaching out for him.

Coming to deliver him from the hurt in his heart.

A hurt that needed the remedy of connection.

And the open palm in front of him seemed to hold the fragmented lines to his own unfinished sentences.

And when the two hands met, they told a story that could not be told alone.

A story of a rescue that took place on both ends.

Where both hands had come together, not knowing that they would be the help that the other needed.

Outstretched hands that bridged the gap between two souls.

Granting each safe passage.