Some mornings I am so filled up I feel like a pot of boiling pasta…
if I don’t turn down the heat, I will overflow and make a mess.
That is how I feel today.
If I write the thoughts that swirl in my head, I will write for an hour
as I did in my journal today
Rest assured – I won’t do that.
In fact, I am afraid to share at all for fear I will just keep going
out of control.
Okay, one thing. One thing only.
Often when I write my blogs I am writing to someone in particular.
Someone I care about deeply.
Someone who I recently spoke to.
Someone who needs to hear me,
but I don’t dare say what I want to say directly to them.
Someone I want to read my blog and take in what I have written totally on their own,
not because the words are mine,
rather, because it fits for them, makes sense to them, feels right for them.
For I never want to mess with another’s journey,
yet I cannot ignore the wisdom that seems to bubble up inside me.
My trust in that wisdom is never final.
I have learned that there is always more.
But I also realize that there is another half to communication.
That is the hearing half.
The freedom half.
The fertile soil into which a seed is dropped.
2 thoughts on “A Boiling Pot”
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