The word hurdy gurdy made me think of pell mell. Both words sound like thoughts tumbling down hill. At least that describes the feeling that wrapped itself around my heart as I awoke. This feeling that was demanding definition but the words did not come easily. When they did they dashed pell mell down into the valley of my soul. They lie there. . .at the bottom. . . broken and incomplete.
pell-mell [ˈpɛlˈmɛl]
adv
1. in a confused headlong rush the hounds ran pell-mell into the yard
2. in a disorderly manner the things were piled pell-mell in the room
adj
disordered; tumultuous a pell-mell rush for the exit
n
disorder; confusion
[from Old French pesle-mesle, jingle based on mesler to meddle]
Collins English Dictionary – Complete and Unabridged © HarperCollins Publishers 1991, 1994, 1998, 2000, 2003
Both these words were a screen. They tried to hide what I knew. Pell mell to the tune of a hurdy gurdy was only a means of getting to the bottom. The confusion that I feel isn't necessary. It is a soothing salve, preventing me from fully acknowledging the role I was playing in my own suffering. Words can sometimes form a barrier between us and what we already know in the bottom of our hearts.
When what you know isn't what you want to know, suffering moves in. Some where at the bottom of the hill, in the mess that lies broken and scattered, the truth also lies. It whispers one word: "Accept."
I repeat this word again, "Accept."
No blame, no name calling, no self-incrimination. What is, simply is.
"Accept"
I repeat it again, and again, and again. I rise to meet my day.
When what you know isn't what you want to know, suffering moves in. Some where at the bottom of the hill, in the mess that lies broken and scattered, the truth also lies. It whispers one word: "Accept."
I repeat this word again, "Accept."
No blame, no name calling, no self-incrimination. What is, simply is.
"Accept"
I repeat it again, and again, and again. I rise to meet my day.
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