Hidden Land

There is a land that is built upon my grief.  

It is hidden away among the winding roads of my soul.  I often travel to this quiet land of sorrow.  Sometimes by choice, but most often, I am given no option. 

I arrive here without warning and find myself struggling to stay upright upon this well worn road.  My eyes open, and I find myself once again staring out at the jagged and sloped landscape.  A harsh heaven I know so well it is now comfortable. My feet know these paths by memory.  

The sun shines down and lights up the beauty that stubbornly remains as the blue, yellow, and lavender wildflowers dance on the cool breeze.  They sing to me through the frosted, bright air.

I look down to see the imprints of the feet of those I love where they have run in the rich soil.  Their path forever before me, always inlaid within mine. 

My ears attune to hear the river in the distance. My very heart.  It cuts a path straight through this land, a steady pulse.  Water running heavy and wild, birthed out of all the tears that fell.  A raging body of water that if allowed to break the boundaries of the craggy bank would pull the ones who look upon its power and beauty under with it.  It is the reason I fight with the very bones of me to steer the rushing water in the direction that will instead carry my tears safely to a far off place.  

The water flows fully, strong and steady. I watch the bright light reflect off the sun on the surface, the water dancing in my hazel eyes, and I smile.  Despite it all, she continues to preserve. To carry life forward. To feed us.  Never sitting still. Never settling, this current in me creates breath out of broken places. This giant river full of grief, this river that cut me wide open, it must only carry life, not take it.

I breathe, and my tired bones tread on, climbing to the tallest point, hands gripping the harsh ground, blood torn palms. I stumble upon the foundation of a home still standing even though it shouldn’t. I place my hand on a worn, wooden door.  I push it open as I pass over the threshold. The sun hides for the slightest moment.  I am home.  My bare feet tread along the cold concrete and mortar that have been shifted through so many storms.  The cracks now run deep through the floor, clear from one side to the other, scars glare as reminders of what this house has endured.  But, I stand tall within her.  My eyes now adjusted to see the light falling on the cracks. My breath deep within my chest, and God, just to breathe is the actual gift. 

My head rises and my hair whips in the wind that the door lets in.  I stare at the distant landscape of rocks and water as they run wild creating divets on a once smooth land.  This foundation has been hit over and over, but still it rises above the line of land that threatened to swallow it.  I feel its strength under the weight of my bones, and this great strength travels through every part of me.  The walls of shelter that remain are broken from floor to ceiling, light creeping in, threading light into the darkness.  I run my fingertips along the broken pieces, feeling the bowing and bending in the places that once stood straight.  They have withstood so many strong winds.  

They provide shelter just the same.  

I walk to a piece of glass that still remains within its frame.  My eyes look out through the worn and dusty window pane, broken and in need of repair.  Eyes closed. Arms held tightly around me.  I let this home in this lovely, dark land shelter me, and I am met by beauty I never knew existed before the breaking. Peace I didn’t know before I had to slowly carve my way to her.  

That beautiful sun, she shines through the cracks, just right, letting a perfect and lovely mosaic of light reflect onto the dusty floors, and my eyes smile from within.  The rays fall softly on my cold shoulders, and the warmth, she is a true gift.  Rare she is for those who know her.  

A small smile lands because it knows.  It remembers the truth.  This dusty and toiled land of the truest grief holds a strong home always, and this home I built out of my death, burial and resurrection will stand forever.

I meander back out of the door to the landscape my heart knows so well.  I love her, this wild, fierce place.  The tall grass and flowers in the colors of my soul blow gently in the breeze all around me.  I feel the wind in my bones, and it whispers to me.  It fills me more than I could ever ask.  My tired eyes look up to find evidence of life after great brokenness all around.  This land of grief should be barren, but somehow, it is not. Not even close.

I stand, and I know. Each season carries the surprise of new life born from the scorched earth.  

~Kalan