Harvest Rest

Miles Moody

Boone, United States

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A cornfield, probably harvested for silage, after a six inch flurry. Raw image processed in PS camera raw, then textured x3 in CS5. Nikon D90, 20 mm, 1/1600 sec, ISO 1600, F/2.8, handheld ©2010 Miles A Moody All Rights Reserved. Please kindly refrain from duplicating this photographic and/or written work in any form for any purpose without my written permission.

Harvest Rest
By Miles A Moody

(Continued from Smitten in White) I see it so clearly, now……
I’ve departed the bleak to stand in the warmth of a welcoming hearth burning within me. I see what I’ve run from, the unworthiness I’ve denied, and how in the numbed chill of my denial, I had believed me free of a cursed banishment. And now, that which I’ve avoided is standing within me in all its splender with the truth’s searing white flame alight in its welcoming hands – not the cocked-in-readiness callused hands of a tormentor nor the preying hands of a commander – these are ever-present hands simply coming into view within my feelings like parting fog on a desolate sea revealing continental landfall’s arrival all around me. Why now? Because I allowed what is and always has been, and like an out-going tide in the up thrust of drowned Atlantis, a primal scream issues from the dark depths of my heart-brokenness, like the wail of a lost child in the arms of his almost forgotten mother. It is a blessed upheaval, a healing utterance of pain releasing from a place once crushed beneath the surface under the heel of my shame, and now I’ve turned about. There is no stinging blizzard in this long avoided storm, no taskmaster’s brutal lash, and no supposed relief in bowing before deserved reprimand. Breathe – the only admonition that comes. Breathe, and as I give over to it, a relief comes like none I’ve ever known through punitive routes. It is an unimagined feeling of repose – that breed of respite had only through the undoing of what I had done. I am Atlas supporting the sphere of my misbegotten choices now soaked in the golden rain of that world dissolving around me. What magic is this, I wondered, lifting my brow into the light of new possibility. My unburdened back straightened to new height within me and flexing newly realized wisdom, a certainty became known to me: What doesn’t kill me can truly make me stronger!

I hadn’t known how it might occur. I could not know what it would make of me. I simply arrived at the place where I wanted it more than anything known to me. I call it love; it is like no love I have ever known before. It begs its own new word to describe it, but there is none – there never will be. It is too expansive to ever suppose to package up into words. The mind can’t grasp it, but the heart knows how to embrace it. The heart knows. Who I think I am cannot go there. Who I truly am is there already. There is a journey we can undertake to travel from the head into the depths of the heart. We leave everything we think we know behind to discover all that there is to know. And who we meet along the way is a deepening truth of ourselves. This is what I am finding. Perhaps it is of some encouragement to you.

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