She felt she was always succumbing to life, kneeling at the base of something much too big, too tall and too wide to even comprehend with the amount of work she needed to do to make it worth while.
The burden she carried on her shoulders only added to the pain of these open wounds. So from time to time she stood and walked away, knowing right now that this is too hard.
It is easier to hurt sometimes.
She felt like her knees had wounds that never healed, wounds that were so raw and so deep that she could barely survive the pain as she knelt again at the base of the life she wanted so badly.
And kneeled she did and she waited there at the base of this life that she knew she deserved.
She wanted to beg for it and almost did but she refused to.
She was bigger than this. And if there was anything she knew for sure, it was that.
She ceased to fight the truth of it because you cannot fight what is real, what is true or what is fact. But she can work with it, along side it, with in it.
And she did.
As time passed, and she had done more than she knew.
One day she realised and relished in the all work she had done.
She delighted in the difference she felt in her soul.
And she waded comfortably in the sea of light she’d felt for months before she realised; where did the wounds go? Where did that agonising hurt go?
She looked down where her pain usually sat, and saw the change.
She stands one last time to stretch and then kneels again as the wounds on her knees scab over.
It’s taken time to get here. And they still hurt.
But they are no longer the raw bloodied wounds they once were.
For as long as she has known life, for as long as she can remember, her wounds have been raw, bloodied and weeping.
Begging for treatment. But only being ignored.
They had always been sore to the touch.
She has always been ready to run, to flinch when another reached towards her.
She has hurt for 27 years.
She has felt the pain of those raw wounded knees for 27 years, so much so that she don’t know how to feel,
or how she should feel,
or how to replace that void.
This welcomed loss.
And now that the wounds are no longer bloodied and no longer weeping, she can kneel at the base of that life, and ask for more, almost pleading for more, because she knows now that she can take it.
Because her wounds are healing.
They may hurt and they may crack under the pressure from time to time, but the wounds are no longer as raw as they once were.
She no longer felt like she succumbed to her life on her raw wounds but was conquering it on knees she knew that could hold her, on knees that she knew would always heal no matter how hard life was.