I Remember

I remember the crickets, how the sound would seem to be in stereo, louder to my right and then moving to my left, always in flux, never still.

The moon stood so bright that I could easily make my way between the trees and not trip over pine cones on the ground, especially those pine cones that seem like they never opened fully and can feel like prickly stones to barefoot feet.

I remember how the air was thick with moisture and yet mingled with a cooler breeze that sent some fronds waving, way up high above me.

It was important that I reach my destination quickly so that I could be still and not seen, just another shadow in the night. I had to get closer to the road so I could see the stars because the thickness of the trees filtered the light but obscured the overall view. So, near a silent county highway, I made my altar and bowed up in reverence to the light above.

I think the conversations I had there had meaning but few words. It was a Communion, a Eucharist, without the need for verbal response. It was a “Passing of the Peace” as we say in liturgy; “The Peace of the Lord be with you God…”, “and also with you Lisa”.

It’s not cool to be a 15 year old contemplative who thought her abuse was a personal failing, a sin that needed penance from me. Oh how I remember those theological discussions: forgive 70 x 7, turn the other cheek, I bore the abuse to my body, which healed quickly, but the theology of it all trapped me into my Great Depression for decades to come.

I remember taking in deep breaths of humid air laced with the scent of pine, as the stars were moving forward in their predestined path and I returned to mine. Predestined? For real? To be a wounded healer was not part of the big plan. But gradually it came to be.

I remember.

#blog