Heart on my Sleeve

Beloved,

I don’t know if I want to stay in bed today, run away to a place unknown, done that once before in my life – dig a hole and crawl in… or just sit and cry.

Cry for those that will ever understand another human that can feel so intensely. Maybe it is me and my all over the place emotional status, or maybe it is the voices in my head contributing to the already hurting spaces in my soul.

Never shall I sit and pretend that everything in my world is 100% great and happy all the time. What would be the use of a life like that? Will I ever reach my true potential? Will I feel as if my hurt and pain, or joy and happiness make a difference in this life?

Shall I pretend that I am all knowing, and within that blow EGO up to a size that it overtakes me, making me no different from the rest of the world.

Funny how most people do not know what to do “with you”, when you fall off the wagon, in my mind I almost see a substance abuser. I really do… For weeks and months, we carry on, suppressing the niggly feeling in the back of our minds. Charging on, going forward, almost pretending that we are all fine.

It takes one experience to pull that band-aid off. I think my band-aid had been slowly taken off in the last couple of weeks.

My soul, my soul is crying. No longer just tears, but if I should hand you my soul right in this moment, it is bleeding, a weeping, bleeding mass of something almost looking like a once-upon-a-time-heart.

As I have evolved through the years, there are not many things that can make me cry. The one “thing” is an animal. A tiny life that is struggling to overcome the already worst start possible. One that is fighting for life. And most times not winning.

I hear you all say, and I have spoken about this so many times over, I sound like a gramophone stuck… One cannot save them all… I love responding – but I can try. A good friend of mine addressed an interesting concept – his – that because I feel I stand in service of those abused, there will always be abused. Human or animal alike.

I thought about this statement for a very long time, and respectfully I disagree. If there where more to help and less to abuse, the balance will return, but because there are more to abuse, and less to help, the scales are so out of control it is scary.

It also made me think of the comment of whom am I to say the universe is wrong – remember we touched on this. I am not telling the universe it is wrong, or source, or whatever you believe in – but maybe, just maybe… in a perfect little world, we can try and respect those voiceless a little more. Maybe the universe can take some of my big heart and give others a little too. Maybe with all or most waking up, the universe can see that it doesn’t need to balance the scales by allowing so much of destruction.

So many “maybe’s” I don’t have all the answers. And my poor little bleeding heart cracks open a little bit more every time I stand with a limp, dis-ease infected body at a steel stable. I worry all the time. I worry and check like a crazy thing every night that all 40 in my care are actually inside where it is warm.

I stress when one does not eat, I go into a panic thinking that with limited funds, I may have to visit the doctor again. You ask me why I have so many – I could give you a cheeky response – but today, all I will say, there is no greater joy than trust extended from an abused animal, months after you have spoken in a soft voice, sat down on a cold floor trying to coach them out from under a bed, no greater joy than standing still in a room where  feral’s used to run like crazy things to get away from you, seeing they have not moved an inch.

We hold onto little blessings like this. If we don’t, we will go crazy in a world that just does not care anymore. Should I be aware of my words, yes I should, but it doesn’t take away the emotion that goes with the experience.