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Every Beat of My Heart
by Jennifer Dyan Hartley
There is something strong inside me that is pulling me along, sometimes pushing, sometimes pulling, sometimes struggling to keep along. It has no name that I can call it, or no face that I can place. It has a comforting sense of familiarity though, that I can always reach. It is present when I forget about it, when I ignore it or get too busy to pay it any mind. It is there when I reach for it, when I check to see if it’s still tagging along. It is there when I cry out for it and clutch toward it in the darkest, scariest nights of my soul. It is subtle but solid, formidable, resilient, unrelenting and persistent. It is the only thing I believe that keeps me alive. It holds comfort and security. It holds dreams and promises. It holds fear of the future and certainty that the future is already unfolding.
Sometimes I want to give up and stop playing the game. I am tired and hungry and overworked. I envision relief in poverty and illness. I no longer want to keep trying so hard. I no longer want to hold responsibility for where and who I am. But just as I am on the brink of letting go, I find myself abruptly pushed on.
Sometimes I think I’m invincible. I am all powerful, all knowing, all seeing. I hold the fate of the world in my hands. Even then it is there patiently smiling, reminding me to breathe, and slow down and enjoy the passing moments no matter how trivial the events of them seem.
Sometimes I dare dream of my brilliant future. I see it unfolding as certainly and gracefully as the trees bow to the summer storms. I am propelling it, allowing it and advancing myself toward it without fear. It is there to remind me that the power is mine and the future is as possible as the clarity of my dream.
Sometimes I am paralyzed in fear that the path I have traveled is wrong. There is some unseen monster at the end waiting to devour all I have nurtured along the way. I am advancing toward or ready to get ambushed by some unknown foe. I see no way out of impeding doom and am ironing out the white flag. From some unknown source I am quietly reminded that I am strong.
Sometimes I am an angel. Soft and sweet, loving and nurturing. Ready to mother the world and create rainbows out of rain. I am comforted and supported and encouraged along.
Sometimes I am a fiend steeped in hate. Shooting daggers of loathing from every pore of my being. Pushing love and beauty and friendship away with my fear and distrust, protecting myself from deceit. I am firmly reminded that I sow what I reap.
Sometimes I am alone and I cry. I am unloved and unnourished and seeking purpose. I am rocked to sleep.
I have a best friend. It keeps me happy and whole. It keeps me tolerant and strong. It keeps me soft and young. I have a friend who follows me where-ever I go, supports all my efforts and directs my intents. I have a friend who hugs without arms, and loves without caresses and supports without money. I have a friend who refuses reward and celebrates with every beat of my heart.
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