Place of Honesty

A place of honesty:

a page is always honest in its capacity to hold whatever words are given - my own aim has been to match this openness with my own willingness to give exactly what the moment holds for me, to write without concern of what I share as long as it comes from a place of honesty as well. There is a trust between us, whoever now reads these words - we meet here and share a moment of our own. 

what I've offered lately has been my grief, a life felt fragile in all I care so dearly about, loss. I have shared my fear in all of its stages, of how death approached my father in such tentative steps at first, giving me notice of early presence, easing ever closer, subtle, yet still all too sudden. I've given words that describe my life as a caregiver, of my often failure in this care, and now my loss. 

through it all the page has been here, never wavering in capacity, holding every word. This has indeed been a place of honesty, a continuous share of openness, words, and the tenderness of readers in the time that they have given here. I have no clear idea where life will take me next, as frightened now without my father, the anchor he provided, and all that seems a further loss in coming days. I'm frightened in a way that was impossible before, directionless, spiraling. 

and yet,

there's still this capacity, not just on page but life as well, an openness to hold me through my fall, groundless in its receiving, welcoming no matter what I come to offer. This capacity allows my every fear, holds my grief through an emptiness that expands without bias to the length of sorrow, always willing to accept more, endless in its hold. I have no idea what will come next, what life will bring, and if I even have the courage left to face it. I just don't know. But I will continue to show up here, finding the welcome of the page, giving myself to its capacity. 

it's all I know to do. 

~

Peace, Eric