Words by Kirsten Macdonald

You are the humanity in which I am supposed to learn my way; to teach me your wisdom. 

 

You have walked the path, burned the forests, surely you have the knowledge, you have discovered a way forward you might teach me or might help reduce my pain and heal my trauma? 

 

For the trauma is supposed to be a lesson, not a prison. For the victim to become the warrior, will you hold the space with me? Teach me? Please don’t outsource your love and transcendence. I have waited so long. 

 

“All grown-ups were once children… but only few of them remember it.” 

― Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince

 

Don’t you want to heal your heart while you help me heal mine?

 

By the time I find these words, these big sounds you have taught me and I form them in ways to ask of you these things you have left. Your eyes glaze over, you have no time. This thing called time creates a gap in the footpath I cannot jump over. This crack cannot be avoided, it is a fault line that isn’t yours. 

 

You are doing the best you can. 

 

The only thing is I thought you had more. I was born with a promise you had more. More time, more love and calm. More peace and patience. I want. Why was I born with this promise inside me? This expectation? It feels unkind, an empty box on a day of gifts. 

 

The guilt unfurls like ripped ribbon and I am starting to understand now. 

 

This is the way of things. I shall snap these twigs between my thighs and start a fire, because you have taught me well and these things shall pass. 

 

We shall stamp our feet on the earth, watch the dust fly up, saltwater, tear the leaves, sing into the wonder of night and laugh in the rebirth of the morning. I shall love you, bathe your feet and know you as best I can. For the box was never empty, it was never a box at all, it was a message that said I am so tired my child. 

“Grown-ups never understand anything by themselves, and it is tiresome for children to be always and forever explaining things to them” 

Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince

Written by Kirsten Macdonald

Narnia, A Faraway Tree with a smidge of a Doc called Suess, and some Kahlil Gibran is the word charm that grew seeds in Kirsten Macdonald's imagination. She has an innate curiosity about the stories of "us" and a deep faith that is strongly supported by a dark sense of humour. Ask this wordsmith about anthropology, ancient religions, the curious nature of humanity and the incredible cuteness of sloths and you will have a conversation for hours. Writer, editor and researcher, Kirsten has developed Ponderings into a space that is now shared by a team and a shared vision that is infectiously positive and forged in good stuff.

Related Articles

Related

Follow Us

Join

Subscribe For Updates & Offers

Support our mission to write and produce Positive Stortelling, it takes a tribe to build one. 

%d bloggers like this: