Open me to the suffering; do not let any part of my heart close, even to pain. Even to longing that ravishes me clean of my senses; even to yearning that rips the flesh like teeth sharpened on so much time, the cycles of lives, the loss that cuts to marrow. Open me so that I am a vessel, a cup of endless holding, receiving: the sorrow of the Earth, her children, her forsaken lovers. Let no part of me be closed to what is ugly, needy, raw and grasping. Let me instead be familiar as a mother with her child to all shades of shadow, to the slightest shift in movement in a coal black night. To lay with the darknesses, sing their songs for them, carried up, up, and into the forever Sky, watcher and Knower of all things.
