A few days ago I began thinking on the imagery of the thought that we hold onto our wounds like a cloak or a safety blanket – there’s a kind of comfort in holding them close and nestling into their remembrance. We resist laying them down as though doing so exposes us to further pain. No one likes to feel naked except by choice and in utter.. complete… safety – just look at the universality of the dreams in which people wake in a cold sweat having seen themselves suddenly naked in public. Exposed, naked, vulnerable are all pretty synonymous.
Continue reading “Let the fig leaves fall”Let the fig leaves fall
