Healing Old World Wounds

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"Sleeping or waking, we hear not the airy footsteps of things that might have been."

A few years ago a storm passed through my life. Twas not a random storm, I followed its path and it followed me. Slowly, after it had finally passed, I rebuilt and recovered. We all do that. We rationalize and temper; we forgive and forget; we go on. Wounds heal, memories fade. We also adjust our view of life and the world near and far. I behave differently today when hints of similar storms kiss the horizon. Do we protect ourselves from another turbulence or do we shake off the lingering memories and dance in the pelting rain again? Some things are easier to say than to do.

This past week that storm rumbled once again in the distance. It was as if a long tendril of the wildly spinning maelstrom had passed through me like a cold steel whip. Yet it was tantalizingly warm and stirring. I did not follow the attraction, I know the light and warmth are reflected from a painful and cruel place. In this respect I am saner now, but am I happier?