bowl, speckled with blue.
![Image](https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ngrO8Duo5pc/XTYhJo-9S8I/AAAAAAAAOsc/E3QrWDTU53cOxcvPicdLM-0B0TaYJ5ShACLcBGAs/s320/Bowl.jpg)
Your wound is probably not your fault, but your healing is your responsibility. Aphorisms are ancient--a short(ish) and sweet observation meant to contain a general truth. Words to live by, perhaps. The stuff of Facebook. That's where I found the aphorism that starts this post. I am tempted to take apart the first sentence--it's too stark for me, belies the way we live in community, in families, in the world. We are wounded, yet sometimes we seek woundedness, in ourselves, in others, maybe because of the child who still lives within us, stirring, disappointed, wounded herself. Sometimes we are wounded because we hurt first. Sometimes we are wounded on bright, beautiful days, with unreal blue skies, and sometimes the ocean lulls us to sleep, and we are wounded then, in the darkness, suddenly awake with a gasp, alone. Healing is my responsibility alone--that too feels like a tremendous responsibility. And yet, we have some power over healing. We can try to make choices t