I was formed out of silence and death. Placed on a table with no breath and then revived by an old woman who prayed to Mary.
I was carved out of big emotions swallowed up by a demented woman, in a fit of rage, thrashing a broom. I laughed and then was silenced by shame. I was built on secrets, aloneness, and hushed voices.
Now, much older, I’m still being molded by whirlwinds, torment, and destruction.
I still try to chase the black birds away forgetting that they fed Elijah.
I still run from angels before they say, “Do not be afraid.” I still try to do things my way forgetting that it will only lead to the endless, predictable death of the soul.
Never has sadness been so lush, despair so green. Burdens as high as the palms, misery as deep as the sea.
And yet – I know in my heart there is more. That God, who knows no depth or height, will prevail. In my many moments of weakness, I must remember His promises.
I must forgive that demented woman thrashing her broom. I must thank that woman who gave me earthly breath and my middle name, Maria.
Wedged between forgiveness and gratitude- I am still.
The Tape House 