And you dream of Columbus
with an ache in your traveling heart...
My heart got on a plane yesterday and flew south, betraying me--it knows I want to go north, away from the south. I am angry in my powerlessness. If I can’t even direct my own heart, what is there to be sure of? My hands are tied. Life could strip every scrap from me and still be in its right.
So do we learn to hold loosely and to value nothing, to protect ourselves from loss? Or do we simply spend our lives learning to grieve well?
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