To the Edge And Back


How do you help keep people in the world? How do you remind people you rarely speak to that they are loved, that they matter? The ones who have stretched themselves to the edge of reach? Or so thin you can barely see them, translucent? Those who can fall away in a second if you try too hard or want just that little bit…

How do you let people know that you love them unconditionally when they fall away?

How do you let them know they are forgiven, that you have forgiven yourself?

How do you let people know there is so much more to share, experience, laugh about, explore, envision and aspire to?

Time is cruel. It takes away the minutes and turns them into years. We grow older. We grow old on the edges of disconnection.

Time. How easy it is to feel like it is yesterday, like the confusions or wonders or pains of childhood are so close, a heartbeat, memories filled with so much that can’t be undone, with parents who seemed not to notice the scars they buried their children under.

Adulthood took that away, thankfully, took away the elders that brought us back in a moment with a harsh look or words that took the air out of our lungs, words like, ‘Bitch. Nothing. Liar.”  It takes so long to recover from these words hurled like weapons. A lifetime. And the fists and limbs that bruised our small faces and soft skin- have all turned inward.

We grow up and fumble our way around the world of adults, try to fit in and conform to what is considered ‘normal.’ No more illusions. It’s the great gift of age, not caring what the world thinks of me and forging my own path, even if it is hard or unusual.

But it was forged while others fell behind, while old wounds never did heal and with people who don’t know how to reach out their hands in the effort to feel or say, I love you, back.

And so, I do it. I say I love you from the rooftops, from the internet, from the crevices of my soul and heart and all the hidden spaces, just in case love is forgotten, just in case they don’t know. Just in case they forget they are not alone.

It’s all I can to do to reach the women who are far away, on the edge of their own worlds. If they can’t hear me now, maybe they will know or feel it in the quiet of sleep when the walls are not so high, when their inner guards are resting, when the weight of the past falls way to night in dreamtime.



  1. Those words are fathomable to me, meaningful in their sincerity and strong in their sympathy. After the early death of my father and the abandonment by my mother I was on that very edge guided only by the cold harsh words of an orphanage school viciously homophobic and indifferent to emotional problems. Thereafter I flung myself on to the very edge by joining the merchant navy with which I had become comfortable far away from harsh words that challenge the heart. I threw myself into the work for it was the be all and end all of my life. Now I have swallowed the anchor I am confused like a fish out of water. My sexuality has always confused me being born a boy but always harbouring the wish that I could have been a girl. To follow that wish now would put me so far outside the horizon of hum\n sympathy that my only respite would be the coffin. But I am undaunted because I have come to realize that those who throw harsh words are themselves poor….yes, even poorer that me.

    • Billie, I hope you can find like minded friends and supports in your community. You are not alone and the culture is changing. Hopefully you will find a way to step into the shoes that you wish to stand in, and if the fear is too great, than it’s okay to do what you need in the moment. Stay safe and remember the world is changing…slowly and with pain, but still moving forward, as we do. Peace to you.

      • And it’s not just with pain that we moved forward. Sometimes the joy, the wine, the activism, the communities in which we work for and love in- are all part of the experience of living fully…along with the pain of the slow motion of change… Whatever that means to you and others! 🙂

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