Talking Stick

Talking Stick

It was brave of you to show up here.

We see it written all over your face-

the disbelief of betrayal

and that sad tune of how it was supposed to be.

We read the resignation held fast in your body-

folding inward-

holding the rigidity of how you don’t belong here.

In this circle

we hear your tale of woe unfold-

nodding in recognition and letting your words drop into the center.

As you finish-

Silence.  Not your turn anymore.

The talking stick has moved on.

Collectively, we decide to offer something other than

our eerily similar stories-  we’ve all breathed them for too long.

We begin to speak with Love- only that.  We pass the stick

one to another, meeting your gaze.

Your tired “not enough” story of not picking well

of finding a partner to complete you-

of not knowing how to date-

It’s dragging down the corners of your smile.  It eclipses your vitality and

Must go.

Drop the rock-

We are not interested in your betrayal-

only of your resurrection.

Not interested in your soul-sucking job,

but in the pockets of stolen joy as you create movie-night dinner for your kids

or add a new Mexican planter to your patio.

We are truly not interested in how you worry

about your aging body and its droopy parts,

but we are fascinated when you confess a new habit of sleeping naked

with the curtains open (in full sunlight).

Love, we understand that you earnestly believed that he was the one

who completed you-

He wasn’t that- not even a little bit.

We’ve called your hand.  That was always You.

This reckoning has unearthed

your beautiful heart to ask what it longs for-

So do that.  Trust.

Listen-

to what is said and what is not.

So we pass the stick to you again.  Offering you the chance to sing a different song-

One of Finding

(not losing)-

One of Arrival

(not departure)-

One of Possibility

(not pattern)-.

We offer this

with eyes lifted skyward,

as you step into the circle and begin to dance

as if none of us were here at all.

5/18/18

Brigette Nelson