I have decided to collect these tired memories like deep breaths after a sprint. These wrinkles are rubies birthed from years of worn-out laughs and clenched-gut sobs. I have decided to accept my skin beyond metaphors; to accept the naked parts, sagging and unfirm, that mumble angrily to themselves in the shower. I have decided to stuff my hands into dirt and call it holy; to call the gift of white-knuckled love that doesn't give up "holy", and to call the "walking away" holy too.
Because sometimes you have to leave one thing to call any thing "holy".
I have decided that I may be a soul, but I am also a body, and I am destroying too much in front of me (earth/trees/me); and that the smog which poses as a Hollywood masterpiece, has choked my vision. Now I don't know the difference between natural beauty or distorted reality.
I have decided on wrinkles, because this is a process.
And the earth and our bodies and our skin and our worth are resources made for restoring; calling good. And I have decided on wrinkles and skin, dirt and worth, because there is no place too dark to redeem or set free. (At least, that's what faith taught me when I stopped yelling.)
Life is not an escape measure with a self-destruct button. It is a slow breath; a sigh; a rain drop (or 17 days of rain drops). It is the sweat and dirt and work and love we make; love we lose; love we restore.
It is all being renewed. All the sagging skin, comforting like a child's sleeping breath; all the moment's that catch up with you, suddenly and all at once, which remind us of a constant truth.
These are stories we carry in our eyes/skin/teeth. Do not be ashamed, or silent. Let them speak.