He leans in slightly for emphasis.
"So you must wrestle with it, Margaret. Let no one assist or relieve you. This is for your betterment and perhaps, if your dreams align with God's, it is the beginning of your artistic journey. Try to see the art in the struggle. Pray that God gives you the strength and the wisdom to love it, because it is His great love for you that allows it. You must be prepared.
He sits politely across from me, requiring nothing.
I am being prepared...hope. I feel like I am liquid, liquid with direction. I am no longer held down...I have escaped in the most unusual way, through the most unexpected means. The knowledge is cathartic.
I look around his office again as he stares at the blotter. He allows the quiet to separate him from his words. He wants no recognition, no legacy for my emancipation. It is a kind gesture that allows me to fill every nook and cranny of my mind with the balm of his wisdom.
I close my eyes and mentally take my two hands, knitting them together, fingers inward, in the middle of my chest. In my mind, I peel back, with all the strength I can muster, what is left of my armor, my shielding. I expose the raw flesh of my beating heart. If this is surgery (pruning), then let us be done with it, I pray. Let us get every last bit of shadow, every speck of fear.
I stand to leave, and though I am heavy with emotion, I feel unbearably light, like there is no gravity. I know there is more struggle ahead, more surgical steel, but I have hope for the healing, vision for recovery..."
"So you must wrestle with it, Margaret. Let no one assist or relieve you. This is for your betterment and perhaps, if your dreams align with God's, it is the beginning of your artistic journey. Try to see the art in the struggle. Pray that God gives you the strength and the wisdom to love it, because it is His great love for you that allows it. You must be prepared.
He sits politely across from me, requiring nothing.
I am being prepared...hope. I feel like I am liquid, liquid with direction. I am no longer held down...I have escaped in the most unusual way, through the most unexpected means. The knowledge is cathartic.
I look around his office again as he stares at the blotter. He allows the quiet to separate him from his words. He wants no recognition, no legacy for my emancipation. It is a kind gesture that allows me to fill every nook and cranny of my mind with the balm of his wisdom.
I close my eyes and mentally take my two hands, knitting them together, fingers inward, in the middle of my chest. In my mind, I peel back, with all the strength I can muster, what is left of my armor, my shielding. I expose the raw flesh of my beating heart. If this is surgery (pruning), then let us be done with it, I pray. Let us get every last bit of shadow, every speck of fear.
I stand to leave, and though I am heavy with emotion, I feel unbearably light, like there is no gravity. I know there is more struggle ahead, more surgical steel, but I have hope for the healing, vision for recovery..."
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