my words, our echo

"We're all just walking each other home." Ram Dass

I am naked unto myself.
I cannot, must not hide.
From myself, never.
From you, rarely.
The urge remains.

I search the corners of my soul for what is good.
An aim.
A corner for warmth,
A corner for humanity,
And one for grace.

I want to be a part of this life.
At the end is presence, understanding—
My heart poised in love.

Orfayo via Instagram

I stand before you. Exposed. Vulnerable. Quivering.

Afraid. And yet not. Everything all at once.

Over the last seven days, my heart has fractured and mended dozens of times. And if I’m lucky, it will fraction and mend a million more.

I’m buzzing with a life force that overwhelms; I’m undeserving.

Last Saturday, I put my truth onto the digital page, naked — words about being unseen, about a soul longing to be known. I’m thinking now of how I hesitated, worried that I shared too much, that it didn’t flow, that it was impenetrable in the same ways that I often am. But the quiet, sure voice within pushed me to be brave, trusting this message was one worth touching.

The bottled-up message that I anxiously tossed out to sea, returned home on waves of empathy. I’m moved and humbled.

Responses poured in like rain after a drought. Your replies a balm for my weary heart. I read each one slowly, tears welling up.

The joyful realization that I am no longer alone in this deeply human ache — I never was. That you too have let the outside rip apart your insides. That our journeys may differ, but we’re all just tending to the same wounds and begging for respite, any remedy for the pain. But knowing that the only worthwhile substance is connection.

With each comment, bittersweetness flooded over me like the tide. So much hurt and loneliness shared under our carefully curated masks. But comfort found in the echoes, this communal choir. Individual voices united in one refrain: to know and be known — it’s the essence of life — that we’re meant to walk together. Or as Ram Dass perfectly penned, “we’re all just walking each other home.”

Though our souls may feel neglected, we are never alone. Our hurt is all one and the same.

It’s always been a group project. I just didn’t know…

I’m going to keep sharing my stories and intentionally splitting open my chest and letting us all poke around inside. To feel the journey. To touch it. To smell it. To, hopefully, learn. And I pray that you do too.

With each passing day, I grow surer that only by exposing our fullness can we wholly heal and rest.

I will walk this path with you, we’ll confide hand in hand.

Take comfort, dear hearts, though long we’ve waited - finally, we are seen.

P.S. — This week The Books that Made Us published a piece I wrote about True Grit and my real-life cowboy, Pop. 👇👇

Pops loved Westerns

And if you missed last week’s post… 👇