i open my mouth and speak out loud. i’m in the woods again and there’s no one around. i can tell the truth, reach out – converse?
i’ve been here and i’ve done this same moment time and time again. it’s the moment right before and i don’t believe and i will myself to breathe breath into words, to say them into the air – to have the audacity to imagine that i could be heard.
i speak to god.
i tell him the most pressing thing without edit. the way i would speak to a best friend before the pitfalls and responsibilities of life show me that no best friend can love like i need. that no best friend is as safe as this walk in the woods.
and just like that, i’m crying.
i need to cry.
it’s strange about feeling safe and telling the truth and knowing you’re loved. these are what happens when i open my mouth and speak to god. when there is space and time and i will myself to imagine.
the will. the imagination. the voice. the woods. all gifts from him and i’m giving them back today as i walk. i’m talking my way through the tears and hashing it out with this god i can’t see and sure as the trees don’t say a word as they listen, i hear myself speak a way through – up and beyond what i am in.
lights at the ends of tunnels aren’t just for near death experiences.
they’re for walks down trails that lead back to where i’ve started. this lamp, i still need. the breakthrough i haven’t been able to name by myself comes talking to god in the woods.