07/21/2026
A Question
By Juliane Taylor Shore
is healing possible?
This voice/heart/brokenness……
carrying….lonely….generations of wrong…..and…..not existing….
And……invasion…..and…..and………..and
I turn away from your offering expecting……
dry, cracked, drought dirt
expecting……..ice-steel
expecting…. dry crinkled leaves that turn to dust at my touch.
I run from your offering with the speed built
from 100 generations.
I rage at your offering with red-eyed wolf snarl.
I collapse at your offering—
knowing only helplessness
seeing only poison
seeing nothingness
seeing—for others, not for me.
You say “an offering is not an offering at all unless running away is welcome.”
This catches my breath in my throat. Eyes glance furtively. Pinky reaching out to test the offering and finds…..
warm, wet dirt ready for growing
hot springs in the middle of pines that touch sky
spring leaves gentle and soft and able to wrap around my finger
and shock….and….confusion…and breaking news.
and rest…that had not ever come…that was chased out of me before conception.
Just the edge of rest— then a longing to hold my own heart with my own hands like the soft, wet dirt can….
and knowing my hands are ice-steel, fragile as fall leaves, full of drought.
You put your hands on mine and say shhhhh…………….listen…..
I can hear it— the rhythm of my heart—of our hearts—of the world’s heart waiting beautifully.
Knowing I will return to that rhythm when it is safe enough to seek.
“Yaaaay” rings through the circle in a soft chorus.
Yay for knowing that what was- is not what always will be.
Yay for living, breathing together.
Yay for understanding that when seeking awakens
it will sometimes be answered.
Yay for knowing that sometimes is enough.
