This evening, my sweetheart and I finished a documentary on heroin addiction in the Pacific Northwest. For us, it hit close to home. Our streets, their corners, the men and women that we walk by, bus by, live with everyday. We recognize them from a space deep within us. We know those roads, those eyes, those corners of pain, tucked away in darkness and desperation.
For me, it brings back wholly visceral memories. Of paths I've walked before, of the women and men whose stories and friendship has shaped and expanded my heart to hold them.
No matter how dark the darkest night, there is always, always light.
Written as a witness to despair and pain.
Written as a witness to light and love and change.
Heartbreak makes space for joy.
In the midst of hopelessness and heartache, I see them. The lightworkers.
The flicker illuminates and breaks apart the sadness.
The walls that you build to keep you separate from the heartache, the barriers that you create to intellectualize the pathology and the problem, the compartments that keep you safe, academic, rational, clean...
... broken down by one moment of human compassion.
Let my walls be broken. Let the boundaries between you and me be filled with hope and light.
There is no safety, only love.
There is no safety.