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Life

Heart Broken

My skin is peeled, once more, and I am flesh on open bone.

Why is it that darkness must be, in order for light to be known?

Why is loss needed to highlight the beauty of having had?

Why is betrayal needed to highlight the beauty of loyalty?

It hurts.

Always, it hurts.

Will it ever stop hurting?

How, says a universe of contrasts, will the world continue to spin without its opposite end?

My skin is peeled like lemon, like sugar sweet.

My skin is peeled for aching humanity.

Photo by Mikhail Nilov on Pexels.com

By brookecutler2

Liver of life, lover of everything. 💕

6 replies on “Heart Broken”

The journey of the Mystic is to find acceptance of paradox.
The journey of the Mystic is to find comfort in paradox.
The journey of the Mystic is to know there is always paradox.
The journey of the Mystic is to realise there can only be paradox.
or there is nothing
because then there is nothing to compare nothing with.

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Indeed, dear Peter, indeed. I see it all. And I feel it down to the bone. ✨

Do I find comfort in the paradox? Sometimes, perhaps, depending on the circumstance. Other times I feel broken by a system I understand completely and don’t understand at all. It is a paradox in itself. To understand and be accepting of, and yet to not understand and be in resistance to.

Oh, dear, life. What do you do with all your triumphs and trickery?🫣☺️

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It is the nature or curse of free will.
Would you have it any other way?
Maybe the ultimate paradox is to give away all our free will to The All, The Everything or God and in doing so to gain ultimate Free Will through Her.
Maybe it’s only after we accept being cut even further, to the Bone Marrow, the maker of our blood, that this falls into place.
I’ll tell you when I get there!
But yes, it still hurts a lot on the way.
I think then our triumphs and trickeries loose their sense of being such, of being ours, and merge into one, Oneness!
What do you think?

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I think the river sees the rock and continues on by, without a care that they’ve collided. It just happens and it is beautiful.

I think the wind blows through the trees and does not worry for the leaves and life she is destroying in the process. She just blows like the perfect darling she is; I think the trees accept her as a part of them.

I think I would like to sit by the river forever beneath the sun, alone, with just the breeze on my skin as a reminder that I am alive.

I think ‘to think’ is an act of human violence I’d much rather live without.

I think this coffee is good. But then I also know, somehow, the concept of good will always be in relation to some other invisible force.

And so I think I will stop thinking now. ☺️

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Wonderful, wonderful Brooke,
Any words don’t come and my thinking rests, my preference would be permanently.
But so many people want to ‘know’. Sigh!
Reading this puts me in a good, nay great spot.
So restful.
Each time you do this it saves me a little more.
And that is often.
Thank you.

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Oh, that makes me happy, Peter. I’m happy that a little more of the ‘river Peter’ is running smoothly, and it’s my honour to have helped a little. ☀️✨

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