イザベル・ルーカスのインスタグラム(isabellucas) - 8月8日 21時15分

For years, behind the first house I lived in on my own, there was an old oak which had a piece of barbed wire embedded in the center of the trunk. The tree had grown around the wire until it seemed as if the wire were some hard artery in the heart of the tree. I often wonder, how did this happen? Obviously, the wire must have been loose at one time. Just when did the tree start to grow around it? At what point did the tree incorporate the wire into it's woody grain? It strikes me now that this holds a truth about our need to tell our story, about our need to voice what happens to us. For the longer we keep secrets and don't tell our story, the more we grow ourselves around the pain of what is not told, and the harder it is to pull the wire from our heart. It can be done, but it is always more painful once the heart has knit the wire of our secrets into its tissue.
The truth is that telling heals. Not just once, but as a way of being that filters the heart of its debris. --
'The Exquisite Risk' by Mark Nepo
Art by @penabranca
#livingforlove #truth

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