this morning, we sent our well-wishes to those who are suffering. harrison cautioned us that maybe, there will be some people who will come to mind who are difficult to send well-wishes to.
or maybe nobody? and that's okay.
i wasn't asleep, but i wasn't awake either. i felt like i was floating somewhere in-between consciousness and unconsciousness. i did not repeat the words the whole time, but i did rest in the energy of loving-kindness:
may you be well. may you be happy may you be at peace.
then, i went back in time and moved forward to return to the present.
i'm on a call with the first person i ever managed in "my" team. when i first met her, i knew we'd get along. but i didn't know why. i didn't realise then that it would mean so much to me to have a shared pain, but also be able to share triumph and feel supported. and calm.
we rambled sideways, talked about the little new things, until we managed to peel off some of the comfortable layers and finally reached an intimate and profound centre.
i'm proud of you, i told her. i was proud of us. united by a wound, we now found ourselves living on our own (despite being situated in different countries)... and we were two beings who were in a more healed and loving place than where we used to be in 2016.
and now, we can still laugh at all of it. the wound has been stitched, or at the very least is not gaping.
i'm proud of you, i told her many times over. but i also knew that it wasn't enough for me to say that. that it meant nothing to her. how could it? to have a wound the size of your mother, is a recipe for creating more wounds. little baby wounds.
it's unfathomable to most what the guilt of separation might feel like. the constant back forth and betrayal. the questioning of reality. the embarrassment. the ethics.
when i began to first stitch the wound the size of my mother, it was always a wonder: am i doing the right thing? it is unfathomable to most, but the universe—it knows.