Tina Turner: For the Son Lost

Tina-Turners-Son-Craig-Turn-Commits-Suicide-at-59
Image: The Source

It happens again and again as though the control of the one can no longer go there down the way of open roads. Lost inside the pain of hurt things, things hurt inside past days. What of freedom frees those who aren’t free? What of the road leads us there to the clarity inside the seeking soul sought long? We pause that we might come to know, breathe deeply that the pain has room to leave. Space. Time. All things move inside the beat of rhythms that take us down beats of the All. Not all will see the way of the All. Going through is like burning the soul free of its holding. We keep close to the pain until it dissolves. We can’t jump over so we lean in and inside our leaning do we come to be. Lost souls lost from inside the soul outward. Smiles hide what can’t be covered by the haunting. So, they let go. They release that which strangled them deep, a dive into the forever place where the dark called them, again and again. What of the wanting wants what can’t be undone?

We release the way through tears. We let go the hold through the call of our soul. We cry. It is there in the wet of tears that the prayers flow to puddle. Damp feet tread. It is the way of walking. It is the journey of getting through the pain of what can no longer be. It is the ocean of timeless time where the reverberation of life’s echo draws us in. We cry deep that the depth of our sinking holds us still. We are held. We are sustained. We are filled to the rim until the flow is over and the breath breathes last, and those left call for the lingering. Some who leave linger still.

What has gone lost? What has gone missing when the reach of the heavens is here for the extension of one’s arm. We hold out our hand to be brought from the sunken place where the soul feels lost. Who finds us before we let go? Who dives deep enough to restore that which needs healing? And what of the outside touches the inside when the inside is the only place of the knowing? It is the storehouse of secrets where the walls keep closed the quiet noise, so no one hears. No one can see clearly the hole inside that which seeks to be whole, until they let go into the no more.

May the release bring release.

May the unknown deliver peace.

May the way of that which is no more create space for healing.

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