Tuesday, October 25, 2011


I am suspended between the past and future, held by a spider's fillament stretched across a river.
We lost control. Laughs turned into tears into side splitting hysteria.
I must also learn to hold a space for myself, to not give everything away.
A person with cancer dies in increments, and part of you slowly dies with them.
I am adrift with no anchor to hold me in place. A few months ago this would have frightened me, today it does not.
My refuge exists in my capacity to love. If I can learn to love death then I can begin to find refuge in change.

Terry Tempest Williams

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