So this is what it’s like to be a woman of faith.

I am prostrate before Her, held along with my broken heart. Though momentary, the grief is complete. For a few seconds, I cry. Contorted tears. Onto an Oriental rug and into the air, I spill the contents of my heart.

“Here it is.” She holds up in her hand this one more thing to give up. One more thread in the tapestry of shedding and growing to pull—and pull—to its logical, loose end. I see it, and for a microsecond I hesitate. She flicks her wrist before I can refuse.

After She’s begun the unraveling, there’s nowhere left to go but down. I submit like I’m free falling, taking in both how swiftly and slowly everything moves. There is nothing left to do but savor and learn. I also submit to the reverberating pain because I have faith—because She has faith—that I will survive and emerge improved. And that this is all part of Her plan.

With Her help, I have given up this thing now, ripped it clean off. The cut was quick. I open my eyes to survey the heart contents spilled in the air and on the floor. In this sacred space, I see a constellation of insights and learnings about myself and about the tricky obfuscation of mind. The way that my Dear One honed right in on the blame, self-directed hostility and assumption of failures I carry. And the way he could say it and it bounced off my suddenly deaf ears.

I’ve seen that mind trickery before. Been on the other side of it and circled, circled—poking, coming back and poking while it seemed like the other person had become selectively hard of hearing. Even though they’re speaking to this glowing nub of pain over and over again. And then finally, they hear me: the kernel, the original wounding, the source fracture wound is acknowledged.

And then, tears.

And then, freedom.

I close with gratitude for my own freedom. And for my good karma to have developed such spiritual skills in this lifetime that at the outset I was not surprised that this, too, was to be taken away. And for my Dear One providing unwavering compassion and care. And for my own radiance reflecting off the silver lining of yet another dashed dream.

All of this freedom originating from faith—from a subjugation of myself to faith. To Her.

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