Doors Widely Swung

My heart keeps open house,
My doors are widely swung.
An epic of the eyes
My love, with no disguise.
Open House
Theodore Roethke

The bravest kind of writing is that done from the heart, an open heart, with no agenda other than sharing pain or joy or something else that's real about what it is be a human.

This past week, I was privileged to read some of that kind of writing and I am grateful to the souls who risked putting it out there.

Because it is such a risk. The times I've done it, I come away from it kind of stunned. Maybe amazed that I had the guts to be honest, maybe relieved -- because that kind of honesty is an unburdening.

But there's a cost to catharsis.

The nakedness of just being who you are, defenses down, for everyone to see. That takes tremendous courage. You're putting your skinless self into the hands of those who make the time and have an interest in looking deep into your metaphoric eyes.

I hope the people who shared pain through their blogs this week know that we know you gave us a gift.

We held it gently in our hands for a few minutes, thought about it for much longer and now carefully give you back those memories, having shared them for a while.

Thank you: for allowing us to be a part of your grief (we hope it helped) and for allowing us the honor of your vulnerability.

Thank you.

illustration: Duncan Long