Our Stars Are the Same Ones

We see them from different places

Before we knew what we were doing, We connected hands, hearts, wove a life Until we tore it into unequal halves Thinking we could resume Our very busy, lonely lives. Magic doesn’t work like that. Neither do stars nor impossible things — Anything that makes life worth living. If we stopped to listen while raging About how things were supposed to be,

We might have heard galaxies chuckling Gently at foolish humans building Solid fantasies on sand, fog, and wishes. Would we have listened and heard Wordless wisdom sparkling quiet calm Straight into our hearts, nudging hands close Enough to touch, but no closer. That aching infinitely tiny space Is ours to span with trembles, sighs, Apologies unsaid so we can live forward.

If you are lucky, you will live long enough to fight ridiculous battles. With every guile and wile you can grab, you will fight the ones you love most.

Some relationships will rupture, separate and remain desolate, deserted wasteland forever.

Others will resume, but from a different place, linked by fresh scars and unbearable knowing you nearly lost what you love most.

Here’s where the luck comes in: after reuniting, you may be stronger for the tearing, the weeping and wreaking, damning and destroying.

If you are fighting from the heart, you will know this battle must be fought, but must be resolved to everyone’s peace or it will happen again.

Each time you battle, a rupture can deepen into bottomless, unsolvable chasm or bring you closer to where you want to be, on the edge of fierce alive, as yourselves as you have ever been, turning together to gaze at the stars from the same ground, but from different places, hands joined and minds opened to what we create together.

Earlier this week, I felt assaulted by an avalanche of rejections, setbacks, and terrible realizations.

You guessed it.

I took all that angst and launched it at a loved one. It was a relief to turn my focus on all their wrongs.

With deadly aim, I lobbed preposterous, twisted words, and blasted presumptions.

As suddenly as it erupted, the storm was over.

We are different for the storm.

A light breeze offers fresh, clear air. The fields are treacherous with sinkholes. Some of those trees will never come back.

We walk together to look up at the night sky. We see things differently and always will, but right now, we’re connected in gazing in wonder.