A big heart is both a clunky and a delicate thing; it doesn't protect itself and it doesn't hide. It stands out, like a baby's fontanel, where you can see the soul pulse through.
Writing and reading decrease our sense of isolation. They deepen and widen and expand our sense of life: they feed the soul.
Love falls to earth, rises from the ground, pools around the afflicted. Love pulls people back to their feet. Bodies and souls are fed. Bones and lives heal. New blades of grass grow from charred soil. The sun rises.
After a while the middle-aged person who lives in her head begins to talk to her soul, the kid.
Your inside person doesn’t age. Your inside person is soul, is heart, in the eternal now, the ageless, the old, the young, all the ages you’ve ever been.
Raising a child, whether or not it is yours, is like Nautilus of the heart and soul.
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