Only memory is burdened with the scars of pure sorrow. The ugly, hated thing you hiss and kick at is your very own soul jerked on a leash, bloody and bruised. Others with a kindred cord recognize that which you believe is dark and veiled. Because you are exceptional, friends climb over tangled rope to spread palms full of gems you sadly cannot see. The beast dragged behind you is not a broken heart, but a strand of hope tethered to a woman rising. One day you alone might cradle this beautiful stranger… as she should always have been loved.
Prose by me
Etching by Käthe Kollwitz, 1903
Woman with Dead Child
YOU are an *Exceptional Woman* … An inspirer thoroughly an inspirer of indulgence …
I am so so honored. I must sound like an art groupie, LOL! …
Your writing is so hauntingly touching Rhon… Thank You for being the wonder of You… and for being generous enough to share this tender and raw space with the rest of the world!
Prose that equals the intensity of the amazing Kathe… German Expressionist extrordinaire. Hmmm… Another piece that always killed me is Turen des Mutters.
Again, Rhon,…more of you splayed before us, more raw feelings I can fully relate to. The one thing about these feelings that we have, is that until we mesh with someone else who has felt and feels the same, we feel utterly alone and damaged. Thank you for giving of yourself, so that I, and others like us, can be healed through the knowledge that we are NOT alone. Bless you, always.
So brave.