A windy day and turning much colder for May, with swift clouds and some deep empty ache like late November. Ghosts with cold hands threaten to disrupt a sitting. I turn my attention toward them out of fear, fear of losing my identity.
I consider my history, and in a changing body state, remember when some hearts were colder than any wind. I know that the weather is only seeking balance. I know that all of our struggle, pushing away or being pushed away, is only defense, declarations of hurt, transitional and situational binding of identity to protect open hearts.
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