"Those who have been deeply wounded recognize each other. They speak a secret language of tears that no one sees. They are known to have extraordinary visions, they rise to impossible heights, and then fall down like stones. Some call them mad, when, for a few brief hours or days, they transcend their pain, connect with demons or divinities, invent new lives for themselves, dream dreams like the old men who spend whole days watching the boats come and go in Greek fishing villages, telling tales of life on the high seas, imagining future voyages.
Last night, I dreamed I was flying. It was so easy. I was able to see my whole life. It was like being in a movie about a dream about being in a movie of flying, flying. I think a time does come when we just leave the past behind, all of it. I pray for this. I think we can come out of the fire without even the smell of smoke, like pure gold. I think we can wake up from our dreams of suffering. Can you hear these words now, even though I am speaking them in the secret language of the deeply wounded, the language that we both know so well, have spoken for years? Can you hear me?
This is what I mean. We the wounded have a secret language, stories we tell, rituals we keep, fences we build, ways we have of keeping the world away from our hearts and minds. For example, often during the day, I light incense, or perhaps burn some white sage, cedar or pinon leaves. I do not know why I do this, but it calms me, makes a connection. I am in transition now, but I do not yet see from where to where, but things are moving. In the rushing river, I am swimming past the bleached skeletons of those who did not make it, I am heading down to the sea, the sea, the sea. Perhaps there is a ship that will carry me home.