(The Rib Wasn't Enough to Save) Our Hearts.

My dear, dear sisters, I know the curse. I know your desire will be for him and he will rule over you, I know. I watch it, I live it, I get it. I too, am a woman. I too, have measured my value by the light of approval (more often, the lack) that sparks (or fails to) in a man's eyes. I have tailored my beauty to the rhythm of their compliments, I have weighed the words (or silence)--I have found, always found, myself wanting.

But, when. I stop looking at me, stop looking at them, and start looking at you, I see something else. The grace in your step, the strength in your eyes. It causes me to wonder. To catch my breath, to pause and stare. I see you, and I say: My God! Your daughters are lovely.

I once burned with jealousy, to see your beauty. You were filled to the brim with beautiful things--I found each and every one. And I hated every wonderful piece of your heart, every flawless line that shaped your face. I despised you, because I saw the way you drew their eyes away from me.

But, then. I met the Lover who broke the curse. He stripped away my shame and clothed me in (such perfect!) light. He whispered, My darling, there is no flaw, and I saw myself (reborn). I saw who I was, who I am and will be.

What I saw was all-beautiful, and I knew I would never need their eyes again.

And now I see you. I see your loveliness, and I do not fear it, anymore. We are more lovely together; we are symphonies and tapestries, we are bright-burning souls that shine like stars.

But it breaks my heart, beautiful ones, to see the way you tear your (beautiful, beautiful) selves apart, tugging your heartstrings from the seams of every doubt and insecurity that haunts the stitches of your scars--the remnant of the wounds their arms (or absence) burst open. It breaks my heart, beautiful ones, that you do not see your self, but only the distorted reflection in the darkened mirrors of their eyes.

Sisters, I beg you: See what I see. Look into the Lover's eyes, and believe the words He promised me: You are altogether lovely; you are altogether free.

(Re)Genesis.

These are the times. When the loneliness stretches--the most profound silence. Stripped down to the ugliest fragments of me. I don't--I don't want to find myself here. I don't want You--(please, anyone but You)--to find me, either. Not here. The guilt and shame like black tar smeared across my unmasked face, my head-hairs--(You once so lovingly counted)--matted with filth. I want to tear--tear them from the roots, fling their strangled bodies--far away from me. Farther still, from You.

Yet.

At the mere whisper of my name, the dam (those long years in the dark, I so carefully, painstakingly, built, so they--so You--could never find, could never see)--shatters, the river of my heart-cry rushing out in a torrent, rushing (spinning, speeding, soaring)--into the ocean of You. This Voice that birthed the universe--(let there be)--in a kaleidoscope of color and light and--vibrations, the heartbeat of the stars--humming in tune, and I cry--I cry with them Glory. 

And You answer: Love, Be.