the burning of my belly

I am the child of wounds. I carry no cross about it, but I do carry their weight when they speak.  Sometimes the words are heavy. Sometimes they sing bits of joy.  The tune of his strong fingers when he would let my little hand hang on.  Her harmony to my melody over dishes.

It makes the living different.  The watching was not to follow, though that took some time to settle. Half a lifetime. And it means as I am watched, the choreography proves wrong.  I have to root both feet into the earth, hands extended to my daughter.  We trip and fall together, words I have written before.

Some of us were not mean to ease through this life. Some of us are here for the reset.  My body is telling me this right now.  Like my breath, I have slowed each bite meant to nourish. And in doing so, I have discovered this routine also needs to be rewritten.  What feeds me has been misdirected, at my own hand.

My first naturopath spoke of putting the dominoes back up, so as to hear the body most clearly. Sometimes we are given analogies that appear over and over again.  This particular routine of dominoes is being pulled through my second heart, the centre of my digesting. When I set this game I ran roots through all of my organs.  Pain radiates and disappears now. There is no pattern, other than one that clearly belongs to someone else.

In the breakdown, I hear that I have not been feeding my heart at all.  Not the belly heart, the place where the buddha bowl lands. It’s the centre of my chest – the destination that’s been missed  – the source from which I radiate.  It has been so empty because I thought it was full.  It was layered with stories that are not mine, and now that food is finding the true belly, I can feel the other narrators laying themselves to rest.

The ones who made me, are now their own children.  The sister I carried on my hip has found her rightful place at my side. Her belly informs mine.  My empty heart reminds her she could never be alone.  And my true child, is simply as such.

But what fills the heart?  The one in the centre of my chest?  There is nothing that needs chewing. No action, no choice. I am simply to stand still and open to myself.  It is time to rest, and to witness. Time for what was held to the flame, to heal.

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