"Quit being so heavy," he exclaims,
as he smacks her on the arm with a swift, wake up slap.
"Owww," a small voice inside of her head wants to respond,
yet the woman inside of her knows that what she is being offered is a sweet gift.
"Yes! I receive," she coos as she bends at the waist and makes her morning prostrations.
After all,
it's a choice.
Kind of like loneliness.
Kind of like everything, really.
The question then becomes,
what do I choose to focus my attention upon?
Another recommended that she focus on her underlying, residual anger,
but she knows that her resentment is only topical. Its a superficial, façade for all of the sadness
that lay just below her surface. She's sad because - god damn it! - she is still hurting from all of the time that came before spent focusing on the negative and on all that doesn't work. Its pattern has become embodied memory and she must now cultivate the discipline to recognize it at once and then work to shift its intention.
Can she do it?
Only time will tell.
