There is a muscle beneath the ribs,
hidden below sighs and quiet prayers.
It bends and tears before it softens,
a pulsing ache in the name of release.
We are taught to grip so early
small fists circling bigger fingers,
holding tight to what we call ours,
mistaking possession for power, for peace.
But willingness is not a surrendering
to loss, or a forfeiture of self.
It is the trust in an invisible thread,
a hand extended to what feels impossible.
It is saying, “Here—take what hurts,
take what I’ve carried too long,
take the things I've gripped so fiercely
they have worn me hollow in return."
The shadow of fear may linger still,
but even there, something blooms,
resilience sprouting under uncertainty,
a quiet surrender that sounds like a whisper:
"Help me trust the letting go."
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Comments4
Another fine deep write my friend, much enjoyed read
Thank You Norman
most welcome
Pain a primary stimulator for action. The heart a muscle under the rib would be a terrible place to feel it. Literally my grandfather had a heart attack and said it was the worst pain he ever felt laying for eight hours before he got help. Metaphorically I believe the pain is worse.
All our pain comes from our minds.
So true Gray before it reaches the mind it is only neural impulses and it is the brain that interprets it as pain.
very well said seems to be true for some
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