sometimes when i talk to people, i get so accustomed to being careful, hidden, cautious, gentle, that i forget what it's like to be able to just "spout" what i really feel. one of the hazards of being the eldest, the most experienced, the wise one, is that you cannot afford, except under certain circumstances, to let your words be careless. little ears are listening...a generation is watching.
occasionally i have found an ear that does what this poem says...and what a blessing. i can spout, i can complain, i can be ridiculously immature...and it's accepted with grace and laughter. this one does not argue or contradict me every ten seconds. even when they know i'm being silly or just plain misinformed.
to be able to talk...relax...and be human.
"O the comfort, the inexpressible comfort,
of feeling safe with a person;
having neither to weigh thoughts,
nor measure words,
but to pour them all out, just as it is,
chaff and grain together,
knowing that a faithful hand
will take and sift them,
keeping what is worth keeping ,
and then,
with a breath of kindness,
blow the rest away."
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