My scars are remnants of stars who tore across the sky to open my eyes.
For sleeping too much makes the night too long, and everyone needs the hope of another dawn after darkness reigns.
Else we be tempted to believe pain and suffering is all there is; that struggle is how we are meant to live.
It might seem a dichotomy, but all our marks mean is that we passed bravely through the darkest night,
and left a piece of ourselves there. We gave up what we no longer needed for a new part to appear
and take hold. Our cracks are mended with platinum and gold.
I suppose those are the colors of Grace making me more than I was when I believed the hurt was who I am.
How far did I descend this time?
The trick of the light before its height is shadows upon the ground, and I followed them down and down.
Taking notes about the deep to teach myself how to safely sink.
So I could retrieve the lost pieces of dreams and souls, as if I had a map on how to be whole.
Yes, I must always grow for those who long to behold the unity of all; to know we were never broken.
We were only shedding skin. Sloughing the infection off. Washing out the poison from so much doubt and belief.
Seas of grief that seized our dreams and kept us asleep.
I could make myself a grave there in the deep, or seek what lives beneath:
another creature sleeping who also needs to wake up.
Lend them a hand if I remember the way back above ground by now, and the sky will rejoice in what I found:
shining upon our skin to fill the holes in. For this was the purpose of the wound:
to make more room for light, that we may be as stars for another’s night.
Copyright © 2021, S. Naify