The little white line between these two pictures holds 10 years worth of life and death.
I remember taking this first picture, and who I took it for. I can see the (hope) fear in my eyes, frozen, like a deer caught in headlights, waiting for a response to tell me who I am, to validate my existence…to allow me to breathe again. My lungs pulled in air once I received the approval and justification I desperately craved.

It is so clear to me now… looking into that girl’s eyes, just how utterly lost and stuck I was.
I didn’t know that at the time.
No, I thought I had all the answers, and held all the cards…laying them out like so many little white lines.

There are pages upon pages that (could) will be filled with the stories of how I broke, and bled, and learned and remembered, and healed who I am- from the inside out, NOT the outside in.

But I can’t help but marvel at the physical proof of just how thoroughly we can metamorphose if we surrender, and do not turn away from the dark things… from death, from anger and fear, and from the truth that resentments exist- those we hold, and those that are held against us. We accept the shadow, and with it comes the understanding that it is possible to evolve, and grow and create. And to love.

I remember who I took the picture on the right for. I took it for me. I took it as a reminder that to be healed is to continue to heal. And practice. Every single day.

My eyes are not seeking. They are challenging, inviting, and accepting all in.

Come, take my hand…let’s walk together.