Beauty Sears

I woke up from a long nap, seared by sun reflecting on Kihei's waters through the open window of my upstairs bedroom.  It came in, branding me, with love.  Just as Maui had quieted me to sleep with her gentle shade winds, she now awakened me with searing sun, burning me.  My skin stinging, with Beauty.  

Beauty sears.  Like sun.  Reaching through Windows.  Of Creation.  Burning.  In the midst of the Land of the Living.  While the world crashing against us, in its darkness, does not care.  Does not know.  Baring Beauty.  

It had been a week of celebrations.  In Maui.  Birthdays with their cakes and their candles.  Graduation with its leis and its song.   And as it had been since the clock ticked its last tock on our marriage, celebrations were always accompanied by a pervasive chaotic stress that quite often reached in and pulled out my hair by the roots.  This time had been no different.  I had believed with hope that being away from Missouri, being here in Maui, would make things different.  That distance between there and here would ease the chaos, lessen the stress.  But as I watched handfuls of my hair clog the drain in the last few days - I was reminded that a celebration could no longer be just that.  Not here.  Not there.  Not anymore.  Celebrations they were, but they were celebrations whose drains were clogged with the reality that we were now a family, apart.  We had been torn, like hair from its roots.  And our wounds continually festered, in the drain, with Pain.  

While it is true that when one person changes, a relationship changes; it is also true that if one person refuses healing, the infection remains.  Seeps in on contact.  Pain, when she is not allowed to finish her work, keeps showing up for every celebration, of a family, once together, now apart.  Baring Pain, who comes to reveal wounds, when ignored.  Explodes.  In the after.  Of celebrations. Apart.  And when pus grenades explode, they hurt. I was weak and weary from Pain, not allowed to finish her work.  From wounds. Baring Pain. Revealing but continually ignored.  I was worn down from the infection, and the explosion, in the after.  I was so tired.  I am so tired.

It has been a weekend of celebrations.  In Missouri.  Of a birthday, with its homemade cake and its colorful candles.  Of a high school dance, with its high heels and its beautiful red dresses.  Of pictures, on the front porch.  And presents, in the heart of the home.  Happy celebrations, with sad reminders.  Of a family, once together, now apart.  Pain, she was present.  And Anger came along, too.  Baring Pain, revealing.  Wounds, that remain infected.  Because they've been ignored for far too long.  And I wake up today.  Covered.  In pus. 

And I wake up today.  Seared.  By sun reflecting on white sky through the cold window of our hallway just outside our laundry room with its laundry humming.  Another passageway.  From there to here.  Where I am burning.  With despair.   Because hope has been pulled out by its roots.  And my drains are clogged.  With doubt.

But.  Beauty.  Can't be stopped.  From searing.  Like sun.  Through Windows of Creation.  Searing me.  With Beauty.  That burns.  My mind and my heart and my body and soul.  Branding me.  With Love.  Baring Beauty.  Knows.  How many strands of my hair clog the drain, in Maui.  How many hopes are ripped out by the roots, in Missouri.  How drains are clogged.  With doubt.  In the Land of The Living.  Baring Beauty.  Reveals.  That Our hairs are numbered.  And it matters.  When Our head.  Is stripped.  Of its glory. 

Beauty.  Is bigger.  And stronger.  And more relentless.  When Pain is stopped.  From finishing her work.  Baring Beauty won't stop searing.  Through Windows of Creation.  When Baring Pain keeps revealing and is continually ignored. Beauty comes.  With force.  Through Windows.  Of Creation.  Knocking me over with waves of healing waters.  Hugging me tight with sand that sticks.  Calling out, from Gates, that have names.  Caressing me with soft winds that Whisper.  Lullabies.  In The Air.  Of Grace.  All sufficient.  Upon Grace.  With Power.  Made perfect.  In my weakness.  In my weak and weary wounds that will not heal.  

Baring Beauty

will use

whatever it takes

Salt

in the Air from the Sea

on heads

being stripped of their glory

Oil

in the garden, pressed from olives,

to soothe

wounded roots of Hope

Sun

through Windows of Creation

warming

weary skin, creased with Pain, 

quieting flesh

rough with dust

cradling faces

with Scarred Palms

Whispering

Words

that burn

the heart and soul and strength and mind

branding me

branding you

branding Us

with Love

that unclogs drains

filled with ash

Baring Pain

of families

torn apart

Baring Beauty

of Family

though apart

remain together

from the wings of the dawn to the far side of the sea

Baring Beauty

of Family

Continually and Relentlessly

Seared

Through Windows

of Creation

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