I’m choosing to believe things are getting better again. The give and take of joy, remembering a few days of ache does not mean forever.
SCHUYLERFor now, I’ll bring what I can to my own four walls. I recognize the purpose, the promise of this: a church is made by its space, by its practices.
More Schuyler Quotes
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I sit on the bare floor, leave my palms unturned, and watch relief pool into one hand, and uncertainty in the next. I will try not to lean more one way or another, but let them hold each other as company.
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I know I could be an astronomer of this swooning.
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In a dream, I’m holding you close and when I wake, I do. How lucky, to want and have.
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I descend into an unopened sky, the ocean floor, the final embrace of a graveyard. Find your fill of me before my blue pales like a sour moon.
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Meet me where happiness doesn’t feel like a false spring.
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I’m thinking about how early the spring flower buds rise up from the grass; just barely on winter’s heels. How uncomfortable, how cold the soil must be, still half-frosted, when the roots start to take shape.
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How radiant you are, waiting by the window, watching for the sun to grant you more time to dance beneath it. You’ve let yourself dream again. Even if its in bites, even if it’s in a different voice than it used to be.
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Your anger, your sorrow, your fear, are okay to feel through, no matter how big it feels now.
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I allow myself to be a weathervane; receive every feeling that greets the shore of me.
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I’d get lost in this green, ferns leaning against the trees, soil stuck to my feet, never dream of finding my way back again.
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I never lose pieces of me, I just gain new understanding.
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I don’t want to be a saint, I want a love I don’t fight alone to keep.
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I’m remembering again, how loneliness has always made me brave.
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I want to wade into the water on the sidewalk, crawl out of this feeling without giving it a name. Take a lighter to love’s sticky edges so its sadness isn’t caught in my throat.
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We’re in spring and I have learned how to be gentle and sharp; strong bark on budding trees. Hold out your hands. I’ll leave a pink kiss and a pocket knife.
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