Can we write the silence within, the hum and whisper after a deafening din spinning out the sorrows, the ancient loss? Can we spill the sounds of stillness, of a heartbeat almost stopped back there past the bend at the end of hope, a hope not allowed but relentless, a hope undefined except in that longing for deepest resonance? Is it valid if…if…if…?
I think it sounds so mellow and dramatic and I fear it pangs of self-pity but it’s so much deeper. It’s the feel of a body, a mind, of spirit reaching down deep for another round of life — beyond the last break, ragged sucking something invisible, grateful gulping chunks of air, feeling down to toes the next breath of eternal now…