Touch 

  

What is it to be touched without recoiling into ones self like a broken spring? To never hide behind locked doors that slam shut as people approach? 
To stiffen as hard as stone when a hug or small embrace is offered? What fear lurks behind such vulnerability? 
As I grieve touch I have learned the safety of my own spirit. A warm embrace I offer the child inside of me; the one to this day that still requires nurturing. She is still growing, learning, expanding her roots like a wind beaten tree; learning to stand once more. That which should have been taught as a child is now being learned and the lessons will continue until death. 
There are moments in our lives that mock time and remain suspended even though the clock still ticks. It is in those moments we are able to see clearly. Today, I saw what it means to be touched. 
My infant daughter refuses to be put down and I will hold her until my arms fall off. She sleeps in my arms, laughs in my arms, cries in my arms; she snuggles my heart wrapped in a carrier and breaths in my ear when overwhelmed. This is what it is to be touched. To know love, to live love, and to grow in love. 
As my children grow in love I too grow. As they learn of the safety in a touch, an embrace; I too learn. Finally, after a lifetime of searching what it means to be connected I am connecting. Bonding, tying myself around another human soul as tight as a fisherman’s knot. 
I refuse to become what is expected of me. I refuse to be what I was taught growing up. The little people before me deserve more than a distant skeleton. they deserve a mother full of life, of meat and tears. They deserve truth and adventure; acceptance and peace. In order to give them all the riches of my spirit, I must be rich in spirit. If I can not overcome the high price of peace then I have nothing to offer them. So each battle must be overcome and fought with passion no matter the debt.