My sweet soul, how beautiful and majestic are you. You are the most beautiful soul I know. You’re the only song I know, my favorite tune. You belong up here with all of this beauty, it’s been calling you to complete you. Here you are, there you sit, in whichever cocoon you have self-created for yourself; a blanket, a car, his arms, your baptismal tub. You are never trying to become a butterfly, and that’s why you are the most fearless person I know. You understand that dying is the most beautiful way to live. You are a poet, the way you speak and love others inspires many. Our soul carries the fortitude of light, gives the inspiration that inspires the greats. And that’s what you are, my sweet, great. Simple. True. Enough.
There is no elaborate explanation, no spiritual language that disconnects you from others; no, you are tangible, physical, others can reach and hold on to your spirit. Although such distant mountains draw you, you aren’t them, grand, you are the grass, you are vast. Who you are goes on in the hearts of all you love, and you love all. You are the welcoming, rustling, nimble straight established in the ground, able to be plucked and pocketed, carried, and stored away. They aren’t the big picture but what makes the landscape entirely, what gives it color and proves there’s life. You are proof of life to so many around you. You are as human as you can be, swaying and singing and letting what must be – be, what must go – go, what must stay – root, what must die – wither, and what needs you to take from you. When I think about our abuse, it reminds me of the mountain’s exposed parts, raw and meaty, sunburnt, and bleeding. Your abuse hurt you and, in many ways, shut you off to yourself, made you feel as though you hadn’t been enough to heal the pain imposed onto you, because that is who you are, a healer. You are a divine craftsman. You understand that there is always a bigger story being told, and you are a storyteller. So you don’t worry about the cuts and bruises that surface from whacking weeds of a new path.
The splinters that bubble from woodworking or the burns from the stove for a new recipe. You don’t worry about the soreness from carrying your sister or the blisters from walking miles towards your lover. It doesn’t concern you the breath you loose from deep-sea diving to save the ocean from its predator or the bite marks accrued from running with the wolves. All you concern yourself with is the healing of your world. And when you come home and wrap yourself in your cocoon, it is known that the cure is within you. And so you sit. You transform. You are unwounded, and that’s inspiring my darling, that’s what has set you apart and set you up on this mountain. You are the most beautiful soul that I know, you are the only soul I claim, my favorite.