I felt it, wet tears behind my eyes, threatening to fall.

I blinked it back and they did not fall.

With that movement, my heart was contained.

And I do not feel.

I pushed back not only the feeling I was going to cry,

but the pain, hurt and wound.

My eyes glisten again as I write.

Tell me RA: Is this stoic, being brave?

Or does it show out the fact,

I do have a problem.

Do I bang my head at it?

Do I tear at my innards?

Working to dig out this wound,

to heal this wounded self of mine?

No, I contained it.

When the time is ripe,

the Universe will help me heal it.

When the Universe wants that part of me healed.

It will rip off the bandage covering,

this wound part of me.

This part of me, that is a scab,

covered over with a bandage.

When that happen, I will hurt and hurt from that wound.

When that happen, I will know it is time to work

on that wounded part of me.

That God/the Universe want me to work on it.

And then I will work on it.

I will assist God/Universe is peeling off the bandage,

breaking open the scab which had closed over the wound,

Protecting me.

I will watched the scab being ripped off.

I will watch the wound being exposed.

I will watch the blood flood.

I will – will myself to feel every bit of that hurt.

For do you not know?

I was hurt when I was but a child of three.

I remember it not.

The memory so hurtful, I blotted it out.

How did I know?

From the way I am.

From the way I built those walls,

Protecting me.

From not letting people in.

From not trusting people.

Oh, I did want to see it.

I do want to re visit it.

If only to heal.

But I do not remember any of it.

I had blotted it out.

I have to content myself with,

knowing what Ra told me about it.

That it happened when I was three.

Once only but enough to make me not trust.

A wound that deep,

you think I am able to heal it on my own?

It lay at the deepest reaches of my being.

I have no access to it.

But since my fear of abandonment issue

has been brought up.

Maybe now is the time.

Maybe now I would know what happened.

I knew I was wounded one day,

when I looked at myself,

and saw the way I am.

and I just knew,that this hurt,

this wound which I blamed on my life as a nun,

went a lot earlier.

It went back to when I was a child

and it was sexual in nature.

How did I know that?

I knew it from a time when I read

all the books I could on child abuse.

When I read about the child being sexually abused,

I put the book down and howled.

I did not cry, I howled and howled in pain.

It was cathartic.

After that, I did not hunt for those books to read again.

That incident helped healed me.

But as you can see, not totally.