300px-Stacheldraht_93Tears are salty, like the sea, and like the tireless sea, they rust even the finest iron. Only tears aren’t tireless. Oh, no, they are not. Tears weep and sop and wring out and leave one like a sodden rag, taking with them even the energy to make more. If a soul is dry, wrung, dusty, will the rusting stop?  I wonder, when the old iron belt was in full-roar, and the smelters lit the night all along the Great Lakes, what happened to the slag as it was raked from the molten metal? Did the iron care, as the refiner burned off parts of itself? Did it ever cry “Enough!”, only to be lost forever in the warped curls of heat rising from the fires?

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6 thoughts on “Rust

  1. W-o-w. You have such a way with words.

    I’m sorry for the rust you are experiencing in your life, your body and your soul. The refiner’s fire is hot and kicks butt.

    In my experience, it helps to find a mantra and repeat it. For me it was “endure well enough for now” – and sometimes that “now” was simply getting out of bed in the morning.

    Continued prayers and cyber hugs given for you!

  2. I am constantly amazed at the power of your words. You have a beautiful gift Tracy! I am sorry for your pain and the tears. There are no words of comfort or peace I can offer that have not previously been given. You are a source of strength and inspiration to many of us that quietly read your saga and sit back amazed at your ability to endure and still find small joys!

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