I. Letter From My Heart to My Brain// It’s okay to hang upside-down like a bat, to swim into the deep end of silence, to swallow every key so you can’t get out.

Rachel McKibbens, Letter From My Heart

There can be a familiar disconnect between a brain and a heart. I know I am not alone in experiencing that disconnection. I know I am not alone in trying to bridge the divide of story and context and biology. I know I am not alone in swallowing keys to protect the tender spaces. I know I am not alone in praying for a secret language to gently hold it all.

Healing the divide between my brain and my heart is my goal. I am not sure if a letter would allow healing to happen. Maybe a scar tissue channel? Even the sweetest of lives, the kindest of years, the lightest of breaths leave traces. Let me explain. Nothing happens in a void. Even small wounds fester. Secrets and silences multiply and become poison. After a while connection and joy and even love itself are not possible.

If I were writing a letter to heal, it would start with acknowledging the weight of it all. It would acknowledge that we all carry that weight. (That fact makes the work of forgiveness and vulnerability possible. It means we are not alone. It means we are not in an existential suffering competition. Every pain is our our collective pain.) It would seek profound gratitude. The kind of gratitude that understands that life is truly beautiful and truly hard. It would also build toward a not yet. By healing, we are actively creating a stronger and healthier not yet.