I will not run from this pain.
I will let it in,
For this pain is a mother who lost her children,
It is the pain of the downtrodden,
Of the lonely, of the wounded and dying,
Of the cold and hungry and despairing.
This pain is my teacher, my friend,
And my comforter.
This pain makes me human,
And this pain will make me whole.
Cascade across the cracks in creation
These tears are the rivers
That flow over my heart
And water the desert of my soul.
Each drop is an angel
Sent into the world,
Each a crystallized image of the sorrow
That falls as a waterfall
From the initial division.
This Love is my guide,
It is my lamp
And my staff,
And the path itself.
Every event that tears at our heart
Makes room for light to get in,
For us to move beyond ourselves,
Beyond our own needs,
Beyond our selfish desires,
Beyond our words and concepts,
Our assumptions about who we are,
What we need, and where we are going,
Beyond everything that we think we are.
Because this isn’t about us.
We are not that special.
Our suffering is not unique,
And our attempt to escape it
Only drives us deeper into Darkness.
My love for you is my Truth.
It is the crucible of my transmutation,
And this pain is the fire of its consecration.
My tears are my purification,
Washing over my sins
And freeing me from my past.
In this crucible, I am forging a heart of Gold,
A Sun which nothing can snuff out.
This Love is a forge,
And you are the bellows,
Fanning the flames of my temperance.
I will not run from the fire.
I will not run from this crucible.
All that I am will be burned away
But the Living Fire of Love.