We walk it individually and as communities. “The journey is cyclical, round as our globe. “Where am I in my soul’s journey?” she asked. Meriel wanted to believe in the possibility of transformation, the promise of hope in a world she found enormous, fractured, and filled with fear. And only then will your lover or friend or brother or sister see them for what they are. Only then will they truly be the diamonds of your soul. Offer them when they are rejected offer them when they are perceived as valueless rocks offer them when it hurts you to do so, when you tremble in pain, when your wounds gape open and bleed. In this way, we also turn our gifts into stone.”Ī smile crossed the woman’s lips, and when Meriel looked again into her palm, the stone shimmered and transformed before her eyes. It is payment for filling our needs, for following our orders, appeasing our desires. When we are wounded, we offer the diamond conditionally. We feel misunderstood, unappreciated, and in our anger and hurt, we withdraw the gift. “Old wounds blind them, even though it is a precious gift we offer.
And our lover, our friend, our other, sees through the darkness only a rock, one of these pebbles worn smooth by the sea.” She closed her fist and opened it again, this time tendering a round stone. Her fingers unfolded, revealing a diamond the size of a pebble. It is the culmination of all our dreams and desires, and therefore it is equally shrouded in fear.” We offer that which is sacred and terrible in its possibility, for love is a creative and rebellious force. When we extend our hands in love, we offer the diamonds of our souls. We wait for love to fill us, but love already abides within us. We wait for an invitation to love, but we are already loved. We hold our yearning in our hearts always. “The Belonging never leaves us alone, child. With a crooked stick, the woman stirred the fire. “Will you speak to me of my journey?” Meriel asked. She began to see that love wove the cloth of Belonging and entwined in its folds ran threads of otherness, uncertainty, surrender, and integration. She waited to behold what lay hidden and fearful there, what lay wished for with secret hope, desiring to be set free. Her eyes closed, Meriel listened to the stone’s silence and peered into her clay body, attentive to the voice of her inner darkness. Each song arises from a singular darkness. There is no song without silence, and no two songs are the same, just as no stones shaping this world are the same. Do you not hear it? An ancient serenade exists between the voices of the sea and the silence of the stones. The wrinkled woman sat beside her in hushed contemplation.
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