There was a woman who knew about things.
A wise listener who understood how powerful it was to be heard. A woman who inhabited that sacred place where a reader meets a writer and a writer is read. She knew about joy when she asked about my pain. About the void in a life when numbness mistakes itself for feeling and feeling anything becomes the enemy. She knew about open space and its equally important partner, closeness. She knew when to hold and when to let go.
And she knew about pauses. The woman knew how to hold the stillness between her questions and my answers without needing to fill the silence.
In that space I found myself.
Then I became a woman who knew things. About how profoundly lost I was until I finally became still. About how to simply breathe through a day, any day, all days. About the little girl I'd hidden away inside my heart and how to hold my own hand.
Now I am becoming a woman who understands how powerful it is to hear others. A woman who craves ways to invite other people's words. I am a reader who inhabits the sacred places where writers are met. A lover who embraces joy and pain, as equally important partners. I reach out to the voids in my life so numbness does not mistake itself for feeling. I create open spaces for myself and sometimes, just sometimes, I dare to let others close. I am learning when to hold on and when to let go.
That is the gift of a pause. It is a
moment to simply be. A place to sit in the silence inside yourself and listen
to the breathings of your very being. A velvet
stillness. A pulse.
Written by: Tabitha Bird Used with permission.
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