I don’t understand the feminine spirit. And yet I do. I do. I do. This is when I come closest to hearing the inner workings of my own heart. Some think that this is to be weak. It’s not. This is strength in a different dimension. There’s no strength hidden in the barren caverns of your fist. That is but closed grips and guns and bombs and centuries stained with bloodshed. Strength is in the open palm of your giving. It is in the open arms of your comforting. It is in the open palm of wiping the tear stained face of another. It is in the open hearts of flowers. It is in the giving wisdom of open books. It takes strength to be soft, to love, to let your soul be gentle however the vagaries of the wind. To lay yourself open, there is no stronger or more courageous thing.