Now for the cry.
The silent warning seeps from my mind signaling my lagging body to embrace the coming wave, as I step over the threshold and shut the door on a day of these familiar tears simmering faithfully at the precipice of my lids. How they manage to retreat in the tender moments of this day and where they go...a profound mystery.
Now what are you going to do.
My soul out in front of my flesh and bone all the day long, screaming back over the chasm, let's go...press into the pain! But alas, this ark needed a few more nails (or closed doors) before the flood could be released and it set for sail into the unknown.
Now I'm alone.
Time for the soul and body to keep pace.
To marry with one another and absorb the blow.
If it may, Father, let the Spirit flow into the shattered mess, instead of escaping out.
Now we are alone.
Time to turn up the heat on those raw places and boil them to overflowing in hope something delicious and palatable will grace my plate of thanks.