for which I mourn.
Light of dawn
pierce like a thorn,
draw grace there-from.
I made a decision recently which hangs heavy within me. In the news this week, again, has been much about toxic cultures which flourish and perpetuate because of bonds of silence and cover-up. It is only when someone finally uses their voice that restorative justice has a real chance, and healing may truly come, in time. It is a daunting thing to do, but may be a catalyst for change that would not otherwise come. It strangely protects.
I do this while very mindful that compassion is needed for all parties. ‘Hurting people hurt people’ isn’t always true as imagined – and it isn’t always the most obvious ones with sole purview on this playing out. I ache for the hidden wounded ones who need immense understanding and care. I ache for a tending of their wounds too. I yearn for the patterns and undercurrents to be changed.
I await the gasp and wince from the harsh prick of enquiry. We may bleed some more, but I will keep vigil for a flow of good purposes to begin seeping through.