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THE MEADOW OF OURSELF
i have long since searched for the quenching of love in dry places-
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i have loaded my bucket with sand, lowered it into a desert hole & wept when all that returned was the resolute emptiness of dust.
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i searched in a father's empty arms;
i searched the empty castle walls of men i longed for;
i searched the abyss of my own darkness-
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i longed for rain, but fled from the discomfort it brought.
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until one day, walking the paved paths of myself, my foot was caught beneath a fallen tree of doubt.
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the rain came- & struggle as i did- i could not free myself from my fallen tree of doubt. so as the rain began to seep into my skin, i grew curious of my entrapper. i studied it- each bend in its story, each eye in its bark- & eventually understood it enough to escape. by the time i did, the rain had come & gone.
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i always ran before, but this time i was forced to stay- forced to witness the result in the meadow of myself of the rains of change.
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& finally, i understood-
while trapped beneath my fallen tree of doubt, the rain forced away the shallow earth. only what was strong enough to survive remained.
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i have found the quenching for love in this:
the rains must come.
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only that which is strong enough will remain within the meadows of ourselves.
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i welcome the rain to show me what will garden my path as i continue my journey through the meadow of myself.
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