Love and acceptance

Vulnerability – the courage to be seen

~ DC ~ Leave a comment

The Courage to Be Seen
We speak of armor as if it saves us,
But what of the rust it breeds within?
The pitfalls of our social strata,
Make honesty both virtue and sin.
Layers of taking social inventory,
Peeling back what we hide so clean.
What exactly do we learn?
When learning itself feels obscene.
If we don’t stop, we’ll find our frienaissance purgatory,
Where trust is traded, and hearts convene.
It may take years to overcome our vulnerability,
But years are short in the grand human machine.
We often think of this as a weakness,
Not knowing that gentle hearts are keen.
But once you peel back the layers of your protective castle,
You meet yourself—unmasked, serene.
It can be seen by many as a strength,
To tremble and still be seen.
The courage to jump in the deep end of a pool,
Is to baptize your fear in the in-between.
Maybe jumping off the high dive,
Is how we wake from our routines.
The first time can be certainly scary,
Yet fear’s an old ghost dressed in routine.
But after you achieve this you then may certainly thrive,
For trust grows wild in places unclean.
Carl Rogers whispered softly to the trembling,
“The power lies in being seen.”
In presence, not persuasion,
We find the quiet might of the between.
When someone listens without demand,
You learn your cracks can gleam.
Client-centered heartbeats echo softly,
Where words mend tears unseen.
We expose our fears not to be fearless,
But to know they do not own the scene.
Fearless is not empty of fear,
It’s fear held softly—peace in between.
So let’s drop the swords, unlace the masks,
And speak where silence has been.
For vulnerability is not surrender,
It’s the rebellion of the humane, unseen.
Trust grows not in safety,
But in souls who choose to lean.
We are strongest when most fragile,
When truth and tremor meet midstream.
And maybe courage, after all,
Is loving in the open, raw, and clean.

…

DCG

The parable of the gentle bridge 

~ DC ~ Leave a comment

The Parable of the Gentle Bridge


In a quiet valley between two opposing hills, a bridge maker toiled. His hands, calloused and strong from years of patient work, crafted bridges for divided souls.


One day, a wandering woman stood at the edge of his most challenging bridge. She wore an armor of glass—transparent but unyielding. Her eyes, quick with suspicion, darted across the span, mistrusting the gentle arch built for her passage.
The bridge maker sensed her pain. He saw the shadows of past betrayals flicker across her face, the silent language of old wounds and silent retreats. “I know why you withdraw,” he said, “and I do not judge the fortress you carry, nor the silence in your step”.


She tested the bridge’s boards with careful toes, ready to dash backward at a creak. She spun reproaches into the wind—gentle at first, then wounding, hoping that the architect would renounce the task and justify her loneliness. But he only nodded solemnly.


“I’ve walked on eggshells too long to blame the glass,” he whispered, “but I cannot lay down bricks upon quicksand. If I were to forsake my own ground for yours, we both would sink into sorrow”.


The bridge maker forgave her stinging doubts—the anxious protests, the cold withdrawals. He forgave because his heart was anchored beyond the valley, where hope and patience dwell. He loved with an open hand, not a closed fist—never forcing, always inviting.


Each day, as the woman hesitated, circling her end of the bridge, he prayed for her healing, erecting gentle boundaries like signposts: “Here stands my care—here lines my resolve.” He did not cross where he was not invited, and he would not tear down his half for the sake of making false peace.


The irony was not lost on him: sometimes she sabotaged the crossings with words and actions, secretly hoping he’d abandon the project, thus proving the world’s unreliability. Yet he remained—not clinging, but present, a friend unafraid to see her struggle and strength alike.


He never promised to solve her fears. The true labor—lifting self-imposed stones and facing the river’s stream—belonged to her alone. Still, his gaze spoke forgiveness; his silence offered rest. If ever she dared to step beyond her glass, she would find the bridge sturdy, the welcome sincere, and the craftsman’s heart steadfast—never forsaking his post, even as he kept his own soul secure.


And thus, the bridge stood—not as a demand but as a possibility, open to her courage, and guarded by his quiet strength.

RSP

…

DCG

A walking contradiction

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Are you really trying to hurt me?

Was that your intent?

Are you aware of how that sounds?

 The messages that you sent 

I know you self protect and not self reflect

And I can certainly empathize

But by now you’re old enough to learn

 How to navigate your fear and moralize 

“Defensive exclusion“

Is just running away

Raising your armor

The impulse to flee and not stay

“Defensive distancing“

Self preservation, your first trigger reaction

You freeze up, suppress and avoid

But she will never heal

When you always feel annoyed

You keep me close enough to feel good

But far enough to feel safe

I know your dis regulated

this language, I try to interface 

A funny thing happened to me

On my way to a dream

My subconscious no longer my filter

I see things for what they are

And not for what they seem

You might ask me

Just how I may know

The drops in my water are methylene blue

No foggy brain in my sleep-As my dreams will show

I see all the breadcrumbs you left

A passive – aggressive, communication style

But you hide behind your cowardice

Pretending behind the smile

I see you for who you are

I’ve forgiven you for who you’ve become

I’m strong enough to walk away

What’s done is done

You can only pray so much

For a trapped and bitter soul

The work is left only for you

To climb out of your shame based hole

I painfully know this problem

And there are boundaries that I must explain

I pray every day for a healing

I rely on my faith and I will not complain

May peace find you

There really is no other way

You must face your fear head on

Before you find yourself in decay

RSP

…

DCG

Yet here I stand 

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see the walls you raise,

built from pain you cannot show,


Yet here I stand, a patient guide

through shadows that you know.


Your silence is a language

pain taught your heart to speak,


But my faith gives me courage, gentle strength that will not leak.
Your fears are roots as old as wounds left by your father’s hand,
I sense the trembling in your soul that few could ever understand.
But I don’t flinch from what’s unseen, or from the days you run and hide,


Instead I’ll always reach for you—your journey is my greatest pride.
For healing moves in circles wide, not lines that curve and end,
And every time you stumble, dear, I’ll lift you once again.


If shame and sorrow bind you still, in chains you never chose,
My love will be a steady light each time your old fear grows.


You think you are the sum of hurt, of parents who could not stay,
But I see the woman fighting through, her heart lost in the fray


Each setback is not final, nor proof of doomed defeat,


We kneel together in the faith that makes our union sweet.


I know the path is jagged, and patience wears so thin,


Yet with every scar uncovered, I pray new trust begins.


You’re not required to fix yourself, nor please me with your grace,
It’s only asked you let me in, to share this hallowed space.


Because your worth’s not measured by how fast you heal anew,


Or by the perfect grace you show—your value is just you.
I’ll be here through the winters, and when hope feels far away,
As long as it takes, I’ll stay and stay—by your gentle side, I’ll stay

RSP

…

DCG

The quiet between them

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The Quiet Between Them


Adrian didn’t know when silence started to feel like a test. Maybe it was the fifth day she hadn’t replied, or the way she smiled when they finally met again—like nothing had broken. That restrained, brittle smile that told him everything and nothing all at once.
He met her eyes, but she didn’t linger there. She never did for long.
When they first met, Elise intrigued him in a way that felt gravitational. She wasn’t just distant; she was unreachable in a way that suggested danger wrapped in silk. Her calm was armor—the kind that gleamed in candlelight but carried dents from every battle she’d never confessed. Adrian saw it right away, that quiet fracture under the surface. Maybe that’s why he stayed.
He told himself he understood her, that patience and warmth would be enough. That if he just didn’t press too hard, she’d feel safe enough to stay open. But the truth was harder: she didn’t want to be seen in her naked pain, and he didn’t know how to stop wanting to heal her.
When she withdrew, he felt it like gravity reversing—his chest hollowing, his breath shortening, the perfect replay of every time his father’s eyes had looked through him as if he were made of air. He’d grown up chasing warmth that retreated the moment he reached for it. Now he was doing it again, with someone who flinched from affection like a hand over a flame.
Still, he sensed her wound beneath the cool exterior. He’d seen her eyes once, teary and lost, when she thought he wasn’t looking. The dismissive façade slipped, and for a brief flicker, it wasn’t detachment he saw—it was despair. The same despair that haunted his own reflection.
He knew about attachment theory, about the push and pull of love between the avoidant and the anxious. He’d read Bowlby, read everything he could to intellectualize what his heart refused to understand. But reading didn’t prepare him for the ache of waiting, for the small humiliations of being the one who always reached out, who always said sorry, even when he hadn’t done anything wrong.
She would text in fragments, careful words punctuated by distance. “Sorry I’ve been quiet. Just… overwhelmed.” He would read those words like scripture, searching for traces of affection within restraint. Then he’d feel foolish for wanting more.
Love shouldn’t feel like managing someone’s fear of being loved, he told himself. Yet when she touched his arm or allowed a rare laugh, it felt like sunlight breaking through a lifetime of overcast. He would trade anything for those small mercies.
Their friends called it complicated. He called it devotion. But lately, it felt like erosion.
He’d begun noticing how his chest tightened before he messaged her—the involuntary calculation of how much was too much, whether a single emoji would feel intrusive. He wanted to protect her from his longing. Yet every time he stopped himself from reaching out, a small part of him went quiet too.
Still, he stayed. Because she wasn’t cold—she was scared. And he wasn’t needy—he was starved. They weren’t broken people; they were survivors of tiny, invisible wars.
That night, as he watched the city lights from his kitchen window, he whispered a prayer—one he didn’t believe in anymore. If she could only see how loved she was, maybe she wouldn’t run. And if he could learn to stop chasing the echo of what he never had, maybe he could stay without losing himself.
He typed a message: “Thinking of you. Hope you’re okay.” Then he erased it. And for the first time, he didn’t send another.
Outside, the wind pushed softly against the glass, an invisible hand that neither clung nor withdrew—just there, existing, without fear. He closed his eyes and wished he could learn to love like that.

RSP

…

DCG

Scar tissue 

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Scar Tissue


I wait beneath the weight of hollow years,


the silence burns a prayer into my chest.


Your shadow quivers where the light appears,


I ache in faith, though faith is put to test.


I trace the echo of your turning face,


each time you flee, I find no ground to stand.


The past still hums—a ghost I can’t erase,


a trembling heart still reaching out a hand.


You hide behind your walls of hardened glass,


pretending you were never made to need.


While I am caught in memories that pass,


their thorns still teaching me how hearts can bleed.


The nights collapse with whispers of your name,


and hope becomes both comfort and disease.


I’ve learned that healing doesn’t mean the same


as finding peace—it asks a harder peace.


I see the child in you that never spoke,


the small defense that shields you from my care.


The boy in me still breathes beneath the smoke,


unlearning how to vanish into air.


If grace is measured by the ones who stay,


then mine was forged in storms I could not leave.


I pray the wind will bend your ribs someday,


and teach you how the broken still believe.


Because this bond was never born of choice,


but tethered in the hunger of the scar.


I hear redemption trembling in your voice,


but silence always tells me where we are.


You fear that love will drown you where you stand,


while I fear losing what was never mine.


Each moment drips like blood between my hands,


as faith and grief braid tight around the spine.


I’ve watched your eyes turn distant, cold with doubt,


but underneath I feel the buried prayer.


There is no healing if we cast it out,


so I remain, though absence fills the air.


I can’t repair the child who hides in you,


but I can hold the ache without demand.


If miracles are what the broken do,


I’ll wait for God to place them in your hand.


This scar—our mirror—shines where pain had fed,


reminding me that loss can still renew.


And even if the path is lined with dread,


I’ll walk it still, until it leads to you.

RSP

…

DCG

However, it may lead I will always find my faith

~ DC ~ Leave a comment

I know you’re feeling angry

I know your feeling resigned

The coping strategy you use

A pain free solution you will never find

My heart breaks every time I see

The struggle you will not address

It’s from a trauma in childhood

Not any evil demon that you possess

You are held captive

In a prison of your own mind

You are both the prisoner and the jailer

That will punish you every single time

I’ve done the research, I’ve learned my boundaries

But for you, I will not give up, I will not fail

With knowledge there is responsibility

This commitment to heal will not stale

When others have given up

When you found yourself betrayed

Your family members were scattered

And now you drift alone afraid

I understand your shame and fear

A secure attachment of somebody like me

I understand you’re avoidant tendencies

This is something I can clearly see 

In my initial anxious attachment

I have grown into one that is secure

This trauma bond, I now understand

With self reflection and counseling, there is a cure

I walk a precarious edge of a razor

Knowing my empathy couples with self sacrifice

I tread upon this boundary

Knowing full well, what is the emotional cost and price

You may ask me why the emotional fortitude

In my experience of abandonment and shame, I find the grace

However, it may lead

I will always find my faith

RSP

…

DCG

https://youtube.com/shorts/LRI2CpeR8w4?si=yckUu-wFOGqzgPtV

How can I be a part of the solution?

~ DC ~ Leave a comment

The wisdom of forgiveness

So too requires the wisdom of walking the razors edge

Knowing when and when not

To use a hedge

The entanglements that befalls us

May take us by surprise

If ruled by the heart and not the mind

What then will our passions devise?

Soren Kierkegaard said “life can be understood looking backwards, but it must be lived forwards“

In other words to live one must take risk

Learn by mistake

Beware the idolater who prays to the golden obelisk

When we own our Folly

It helps us see in our relationships

With misunderstanding

And solve our difficulty

How can I be a part of the solution?

A question a couple must always ask

To build upon a foundation

Given what both lives may cast

There is no certainty

With vows of good intent

The practicality to work through shared issues

A reason why we become penitent

Make no mistake I believe in commitment

A covenant and social contract is necessary

The responsibility is mutual

both parties must work hard to achieve and agree

RSP

…

DCG

I would have had to pretend

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you may not know my name

I provided a service to our community

I was efficient in my job

I was kind when there was an opportunity

I served the public at large

I tendered them with care

I listened to their grievances

Even when nothing was really there

when we place our attention

Only on our needs

We miss out on shared experiences

Living a life only the lonely leads

self absorption is not a badge of honor

If we limit our discussions to ourselves via thought

No audience to convene and explore

Only a one-way ticket is bought 

I would have never seen the world differently

Without the influence of loved ones and friends

I would have never become the person I am today

Without the help from others

I would have had to pretend

…

DCG

A prism of reflection 

~ DC ~ Leave a comment

Oh Lord, please forgive me

Please allow for me to better see

Come into my heart and work through me

This is how I pray to be

I could be the hedge

I could be a testimony

Allow me to demonstrate a psalm

Celebrate a ceremony

Let me be the mirror

A prism of reflection

The spectrum that shines

Radiating detection

What is the difference?

From the stories, we tell to children and the stories we tell to adults?

Which ones are fables?

Which ones get results?

The ability to communicate

To touch the Elan vital

That which is often pondered

By the monks on the mountains of Nepal

Create a memory

tell a story about what you care

Some ears will listen

On what you share

Ever experience something that is transformational?

An idea, a connection?

Something spiritual?

Viewed upon reflection?

I strive to see the catalyst

Recognize an opportunity

To grow and change

There is a design to my spontaneity

…

DCG