April 3, 2012

I wish I had a potent line to share about power tonight – a little gem to take your smallness and your fear and your fatigue to brighter places.

I wish I had the Universe figured out, and could state with surety my stance on when to listen/wait, and when to use your own guts and grit to go lasso the moon.

I wish I knew better how to navigate the community that lives inside each of us – inside me – with its adult personas, and all of those children: the ones that insist the sky is always falling, and the ones that trust with unguarded hearts, and the ones that know chocolate could save us all.

I wish I could know and do so much!

Instead, I sit here with my questions, and my fears, and my fatigue. I sit here more aware, tonight, of the weight we all carry than of our wings. And the streak in me that has refused since early childhood to lacquer the rough and the raw with saccharine platitudes digs its back feet in.

“Won’t do it,” she says.


Here’s what I can say:

I’ve suffered greatly in my life, knowing darkness so deep I forgot the look of light.
That theodicy speech that Ivan gives in the Brothers Karamazov? I could have written it.
I’ve known existential angst better than the backs of my hands.

And yet. Or, rather, nevertheless.

I see light spilling through the cracks of my life and our world now.

I see it creeping under closed doors and walled off hearts.

I see it cascading with spilled milk and the blood of war and the tears that fall from our faces.

I see its flame now, right now, as I stare at this screen, typing through my own feelings of smallness.

The light doesn’t answer questions or lasso any moons, but its a thread that I watch, weaving us all together. Weaving something soft I can rest my cheek against in the darkness.

Weaving a net that can catch us, repeatedly, as we fall and fall and fall into what my subjective experience can only trust is love.

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14 comments   |   Filed in: Meditations   |   Tags:   |  


  1. yes. i hear you.
    its true for my underneath all of the trust is love. and a dollop of faith.

    and when i am feeling like you describe, the best thing is to sleep.

    Comment by sas — April 3, 2012 @ 11:21 pm
  2. Sas, you’re so right! Sleep is a wonder drug.

    Comment by Kristin — April 3, 2012 @ 11:50 pm
  3. Just the right words at just the right time Kristen. Thank you!

    Comment by Kasey — April 4, 2012 @ 3:06 am
  4. So glad, Kasey!

    Comment by Kristin — April 4, 2012 @ 3:15 am
  5. Oh, wow, Kristin. Wow, wow. “The light doesn’t answer questions or lasso any moons, but its a thread that I watch, weaving us all together. Weaving something soft I can rest my cheek against in the darkness.” This is what I’m learning, I think: that I can trust the light, and glean comfort from it, without it illuminating some master plan or great big truth. xox

    Comment by Lindsey — April 4, 2012 @ 3:41 am
  6. Lindsey, that’s such a hard lesson, right?…or at least it is for me. I tend to really want to understand big pictures so that I can orient myself within them. But the longer I live, the less available they seem to be.

    Comment by Kristin — April 4, 2012 @ 4:10 am
  7. Sitting still in “I don’t know” is extremely powerful.

    Comment by Pamela — April 4, 2012 @ 6:44 am
  8. Pamela, I think you’re right. It also feels like one of the hardest possible things to do.

    Comment by Kristin — April 4, 2012 @ 8:12 am
  9. I see that light, too, Kristin. I see it in you.

    Comment by JC — April 4, 2012 @ 10:51 am
  10. Thanks, JC. :)

    Comment by Kristin — April 4, 2012 @ 11:13 am
  11. Kirstin, Your writing never ceases to make me feel strong, bold, heard, understood. Your raw honesty is like poetry, like the timeless poets who write about life and when you read them, even though they are writing about sorrow and struggle, you feel like you have been given wings and joy and laughter. Because they simply put down into words what it means to be a human and live life.
    Thanks for your writing, it resonates so deeply with me. You are a beautiful soul.

    Comment by Leah Henderson — April 7, 2012 @ 7:41 pm
  12. Wow, I couldn’t wish for a greater compliment, Leah. Thank you. I’m so deeply glad that this work has that effect on you.

    Comment by Kristin — April 7, 2012 @ 8:30 pm
  13. Hello, Kristin! I came to find you via Helen of Dixon Hill, having just read your Changing Place post. My own post goes out there next week. Great to meet you and find your empowering place here. I love the thought, and need to remind myself more often, that there ARE resting places in life, shelters from the storm until the sun shines again. :o)

    Comment by Tracy — April 11, 2012 @ 4:14 am
  14. [...] Trust Tending is just such a phenomenal + gorgeous blog.  You ARE reading it, aren’t you?  Start here. [...]

    Pingback by Body Loving Blogosphere 04.15.12 | Medicinal Marzipan — April 15, 2012 @ 6:00 am

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