"All of the love we generate, the only thing that carries me on. There's nothing we need that it can't create."
The past week feels like a month.
I am ever hopeful that the aging I've felt in that time isn't showing on my face, weighing on my posture too obviously. I have been lucky to have loving and consistent support. I did not expect it. Even though I have also intentionally reached out for it, my past primes me to expect no response. Rest in peace, Mom. Rest in peace, past.
My friend of the past 20 or so years went home today. I dropped her off at the terminal, grateful and sad. We are still soul sisters. I think we will be until we die. INFJ power all the way.
Life is funny. You create more of it than you believe you do.
Yet.
At the same time, I feel very beckoned. Like I'm following.....something. Nothing sinister. There's a force gently tugging at me. I feel it in my heart and solar plexus. Fate and destiny. These things are awkward in my hands and mindspace. Like sand in your shoe. It doesn't feel quite right to accept.
But I trust that gentle nudge and tug into the dark, the difficult, the discomfort. The disturbance buzzes around me like a bee swarm, invoking waves of doubt, fear, thrill, life. Like a sleeping limb waking. I shake it off. Breathe. Hopeful to find restored circulation and new normalcy. Fresh blood feeding into parts of me I've neglected.
Neglect. There's that word again. My mother taught me well. Poor Mama. I feel for her even in death.
The ex-shaman in me awakens. "Never really died - just hibernating. It's spring again. Bitches. And this spring, more than flowers at your desk bloom. Let the flower in your soul see sun and water and air and love. Talk to it. Pay attention. Caress the green and stem and petal. Do you smell that? It's the perfume of life blossoming into your being. Let it envelope you, hold you. Then, you can hold others. Hold a space. Safe, shifting letters in scared to sacred. This is your place. Create it."
The past week feels like a month.
I am ever hopeful that the aging I've felt in that time isn't showing on my face, weighing on my posture too obviously. I have been lucky to have loving and consistent support. I did not expect it. Even though I have also intentionally reached out for it, my past primes me to expect no response. Rest in peace, Mom. Rest in peace, past.
My friend of the past 20 or so years went home today. I dropped her off at the terminal, grateful and sad. We are still soul sisters. I think we will be until we die. INFJ power all the way.
Life is funny. You create more of it than you believe you do.
Yet.
At the same time, I feel very beckoned. Like I'm following.....something. Nothing sinister. There's a force gently tugging at me. I feel it in my heart and solar plexus. Fate and destiny. These things are awkward in my hands and mindspace. Like sand in your shoe. It doesn't feel quite right to accept.
But I trust that gentle nudge and tug into the dark, the difficult, the discomfort. The disturbance buzzes around me like a bee swarm, invoking waves of doubt, fear, thrill, life. Like a sleeping limb waking. I shake it off. Breathe. Hopeful to find restored circulation and new normalcy. Fresh blood feeding into parts of me I've neglected.
Neglect. There's that word again. My mother taught me well. Poor Mama. I feel for her even in death.
The ex-shaman in me awakens. "Never really died - just hibernating. It's spring again. Bitches. And this spring, more than flowers at your desk bloom. Let the flower in your soul see sun and water and air and love. Talk to it. Pay attention. Caress the green and stem and petal. Do you smell that? It's the perfume of life blossoming into your being. Let it envelope you, hold you. Then, you can hold others. Hold a space. Safe, shifting letters in scared to sacred. This is your place. Create it."
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