In the middle of the darkest night, even beyond the deep cover of clouds that steal the headlights from cars, are the stars.  The moon might turn its face to keep staring at the sun, but the stars stay constant, like the truth of hope.

Say the relationship turns sour all of a sudden, arguing is bitter, the merry-go-round of talk is no longer fun, but just makes us dizzy.  We keep saying and hearing the same things over and over and over and over and going no where faster and faster.

The hope is that indeed we can step out of that terrifying bad game where we keep getting hit with our own balls we throw fiercely at the other.  It is fear, just a little orb of fear that when we throw out inevitably comes back, hits us in the chest and it looks so much as if the other person, the closest, the most loved, threw it into our heart with vengance.

Hold that ball, look at it, describe it, get to know it, be friendly to it.  It will talk to you like a crystal seer, a magic window to your soul.  Fear is only lonely.  When I can talk to the other about this ball of fear I hold, keeping it as mine, sometime the stars come out, the sky clears and I see the path before me.

Instead of fierce fighting, there is that compassion and proof that we are One.