I wanted to say my heart is no longer wounded. Of course I’d be lying, but what’s a little cover-up amongst friends?

She asked me again about that one deep wound, the one that would not dissipate. The therapy train had been an arduous expedition and a part of me did not want to push on. She could feel my anxious heart fluttering, I was sure of it. As our hands touched I could finally feel her sitting next to me, grounding me deeper into the moment. There was no escape. She saw right through my lies before I ever had to whisper them.

Our eyes met in a timeless past, remembering the tears and struggles that had brought us to this edge of surreal synchronicity. Stories of abuse commonly cripple some crevice of our core. Hobbling families still fight ambivalence. Disillusionment darkens every path. We ferociously battle to be more than these boxes.

My well-guarded self is frightened by her persistent intrusions. That one deep wound, the last disconnect, is imbedded in a place within my heart that I do not yet possess. After clearing years of crumbling walls away, I’ve barely had the courage to do more than touch it for a moment. I fear losing myself in that space.

She understands and goes back to her transpersonal gymnastics. No boundaries?

No boundaries. She can walk with me into dark unknown corners of shared sadness to find luminescent joy waiting on the other side. I will let her connect with the lost self, the almost-hidden sliver that has longed to be integrated. If she wants to see into my core, let her see it with all of its gnarly graces.

Perhaps together we can grow beyond healing, for beyond restoration lies renewal and the abundance of evolution at our fingertips.

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