We carry our stories like the clouds hold the rain.
Slowly collecting, moment by moment.
Woven into every layer and every cell.
As time passes
the pain, the trauma, the hurt and the joy
So subtlety. So quietly.
It fills and fills, until the perfectly imperfect moment of ripeness.
Pregnant with potential to over flow.
Expanding, filling, collecting
until it peaks.
The rain pours and the tears fall.
Freely, uncontrollably and necessarily.
Cyclically washing away what was.
Clearing for what is.
As we sweetly become more aware of this invisible process,
occurring within us and around us,
we may adjust what we decide to hold onto and for how long.
We may allow it to fall away
as sweetly as the clouds release the rain.
For we can’t stop the cycle,
yet we can refine how we maneuver among it.
Tuning into what has been woven
and what we are weaving
in each and every moment.