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stacked up things to say.



It's 11:28pm and I got up out of bed, as I teetered on the edge of sleep and not so sleepy at all, because I feel stacked up.


I feel stacked up with things to say. Like there is a line of dominos piled inside of me, each with a unique combination of dots and colors, who have been silent and grumpy but are now animated and free.


I feel like this pile of things to say have been compounding inside of me, like a poo that just can't find its exit, or a traffic jam that doesn't get any better even when my favorite song comes on the radio.


This stack of things to say is breaking loose, and as I teetered on the edge of sleep and not so sleepy at all, it came to me why:


This stack of things to say inside of me, has not felt safe to be anything other than stacked and stifled because things have simply been moving too fast. Life's speed created a morbid suspicion among the stacked things to say, a suspicion that if they emerged, they would either be trampled, mocked, flattened, or fractured.


Speed may just be the enemy of stacked up things to say. Is that true?


I don't know if I need to know if it is true of not, but what is true is that it is now 11:36pm and my stacked up things to say feel animated and free.


Now that the cars are not roasting by, the emails are not searing my inbox, the Quiet Door can open (not to be confused with the Productivity Door, or the Self Doubt door). The Quiet Door is the one that opens when slow inches its way into view, and tender is the common language. The Quiet Door opens when the space between me and the trees is shorter, and the time between hours is more yellow than gray.


The Quiet Door is opening, now that there are spaces between breaths, and blue sky in China. The Quiet Door is opening, now that I'm making friends with fear, and cradling uncertainty with golden song. The Quiet Door is opening to honor both the tragedy and the miracle of those things too big for words.


The Quiet Door is opening now, alongside the grief and the big afraid and the small droplets of hope tea that twinkle and teeter on the edge of Love and not so loving at all.


It's 11:45pm, the Quiet Door is open, and my paws are surrendered to the Bigger work of what is coming through them now. There is a long line of stacked up things to say that bustle about ready to dance into the light now. As they emerge, they whisper to the ones still behind the threshold of the Quiet Door, saying "its safe now, darlings. For the moment, you will not get trampled, mocked, flattened, or fractured. And if you do, none of it will matter, loves, because you will be animated and Free."





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©2014 morgan mitchell.