Inside the vault there shines a light spilling out like a stripe of white when daring to allow love, or when love finds a way in. It doesn’t happen most of the time. Any little doubt or grievance causes the door to shut tight.

Preservation. The vault is securely clamped down to survive, not a choice, an instinct rising from childhood’s ravages. Brothers taking what they wanted, a little girl with no place to go but deep inside herself.

And I have trouble finding my own self. Bit by bit the light peeps out, more and more the truth worth of being is discovered, marveled over. Could this really be? These gifts are mine?  

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