Inward Tenderness*

In this wacky and wonderful life of mine,
Time continues to take time.

Simply said, dear friends, 
The good news?
I’m too old to push in the same ways.

My wild tap-dance of co-dependence—

Do you love me yet?
Do you?  
Do you? 
Now?
Do you love me NOW?

She has slowed her steps down.

Phew
And
Hallelujah.  

Slowing down.
Stopping.
Over time.
With practice.

What practice?

The practice of
Allowing
The
Forgetting.

Returning 
With kindness 
To the
Remembering…

The slowing down cracks open the door
Oh, so slightly,
For that inward tenderness 
So slowly to peak out.  

For no reason but through Mr./Ms. Rumi’s invitation,
 I see myself young today.

I see myself the child
That I was,
That I still am.

And I say to her:

My dear one,
Oh!  It will.  It will be hard.
Life will hurt, truly hurt.
And you will run
And
Run
And run some more.

Until one day when the running will stop.
And slow by slow
Day after day after decade after day
Slow by slow
That secret pain,

(The voice that screams in silence—
“OH!  Don’t ever let anybody ever know.”)

That secret pain will soften.
Miraculous relief
Will reveal herself.

Not always.
Not forever.
Not done.

But gradually,

In snippets,
In tiny breathes,

A softening,
A freedom,
A welcoming home.

Oh, Mr./Ms. Rumi
As always,
You take
Me home.

~~~
The child that I was, that I am, was saved, absolutely rescued and given life at Girl Scout Camp Archbald.
The freedom to be me, to actually be my self.
Wait, that doesn’t say it fully.

The freedom to play.
The freedom to be strong.
To paddle a canoe.
OHHHH.

Our paddles keen and bright flashing like silver.

To gather the wood, 
Tinder, kindling, fuel–
To light a fire!
To be competent.
To be part of a unit.

To be in love with counselors.
OH.

The entire experience held me so dearly,
So deeply.

The sweet lake, softened by decades of girl scout pee.
The soft hills.
The paths back to the unit, no flashlight needed,
Follow the line of the trees.

The counselors.
Our college-student-Madonnas.

They saw me.
They saw me.

Did I begin to see myself?
Perhaps just a peak?
A tiny beginning.

I was born there.
~~~

And here is a song!
A tender song, one that our counselors actually
 used to sing to us.  
And we would sing it to us, too.
Judy Collins is here to sing it to us today.  
Now that is a miracle.
Here’s Judy, who could do no wrong in my world, ever and always: