Love a little

In the way are what feel like landmines of grief and pain and anger, and underneath all of it so many pieces of fear sticking through the pain like stalagmites on a cave floor. A cavern of grief. I want to rush through, cutting them down to deal with them; but running through this cavern is not the way. Neither, mind you, is wallowing in this palace of pain, doing what Martha Beck calls “fondling” a painful memory.