My Beloved Keeper, Let’s dance in the spring breeze.
Dawn is my favorite time of my day, as I quietly celebrate and gently turn eastward to witness the sun cast its warm glow upon us all.
I work though the dark, and by daybreak I have long gone to rest.
My shift usually begins around 1 a.m., but I am often called upon to begin hours earlier, always mobilizing deep in the night while people are asleep, including you — my keeper.
If you stay awake, as you sometimes do, I get distracted. You often feel anxious during those hours, and your restless energy gets on me.
You and I are what some would call co-dependent; I am especially poor at eschewing your anger.
You may seem happy on the surface, but I know there are things that anger you — small things from earlier today, and old things from many yesterdays. Sometimes it angers you that everything good, it seems, is only meant for others.
In solitude you whisper about what angers you from long ago — the moments you haven’t been able to get beyond; the wounds that haven’t quite healed; the burdens you still carry.
Although you speak softly, I can hear you.
Sometimes you silently ponder whether the anger serves you well, but what you may not know is that I have been carrying it for you, and I am tired.
The anger is in me, congesting me, weighing me down. I am full of its calcifications and scar tissue, all made of ancient pain.
If we could both take a break from our work for a while, we could break through the hard surfaces, and let the anger free.
The anger might even melt like ice into water, and flow from your eyes—a saltwater river of forgiveness.
And as we do that more and more, we can both truly start to live — dancing in the spring breeze, energized, agile, bright-eyed, and ready to fulfill our life’s purpose.
We could pick dandelions and citrus fruits and eat them in abundance.
We could talk about the old days when things were heavier, but we would look forward, towards a lighter, more vibrant life together, hand-in-hand.
I say to you, My Beloved Keeper:
Live.
Be alive today, my friend, and then I will work through the night to make you anew for tomorrow.
With Optimism,
Your Liver
