The moon is on the wane. We are heading into the darkest part of the year without so much as a moonbeam to light our way. Without looking at the calendar, I know the darkest night and the shortest day are about to coalesce into a long bleak stretch punctuated only by starlight.
It somehow seems to fit. This year has been punctuated by, as my husband likes to say, highs so high and lows so low, you can't believe the one exists when you're experiencing the other. My granddaughter's birth on my own birthday, juxtaposed by my father's death seven days later, still sends tremors through my soul.
And then there's the writing... I began the year by severing ties with my literary agents - a complete leap into the dark if ever there were one, and have ended the year by not only having a new book finished, but available both in print and eformat. It's the best writing I've done so far, too. I am grateful for so much.
But still. The loss of my father resonates with all the other losses these last five years, each one a deep hole in the center of my self. Like an old sweater, I feel ragged, torn and tattered. Last winter solstice ushered in a period of painful and prolonged soul-searching over my primary relationship that ended only with my dad's passing. This year sets on what feels like at best an uneasy truce.
These last few weeks before the solstice I intend to dedicate to cleaning up my act, so to speak. There's a lot of good habits I've practiced only badly or haphazardly, and a lot of bad ones I've allowed to become more habitual than I want them to be. I intend to look at places - and people - where the expenditure of my energy nourishes me, and the places - and people - that drain me more carefully than I've been the last few months. I want to go into this coming darkness as clean and as focused as I possibly can.
Because after all, who knows what dreams may come...in this season of miracles?
It somehow seems to fit. This year has been punctuated by, as my husband likes to say, highs so high and lows so low, you can't believe the one exists when you're experiencing the other. My granddaughter's birth on my own birthday, juxtaposed by my father's death seven days later, still sends tremors through my soul.
And then there's the writing... I began the year by severing ties with my literary agents - a complete leap into the dark if ever there were one, and have ended the year by not only having a new book finished, but available both in print and eformat. It's the best writing I've done so far, too. I am grateful for so much.
But still. The loss of my father resonates with all the other losses these last five years, each one a deep hole in the center of my self. Like an old sweater, I feel ragged, torn and tattered. Last winter solstice ushered in a period of painful and prolonged soul-searching over my primary relationship that ended only with my dad's passing. This year sets on what feels like at best an uneasy truce.
These last few weeks before the solstice I intend to dedicate to cleaning up my act, so to speak. There's a lot of good habits I've practiced only badly or haphazardly, and a lot of bad ones I've allowed to become more habitual than I want them to be. I intend to look at places - and people - where the expenditure of my energy nourishes me, and the places - and people - that drain me more carefully than I've been the last few months. I want to go into this coming darkness as clean and as focused as I possibly can.
Because after all, who knows what dreams may come...in this season of miracles?
2 comments:
Sometimes the curves life throws us set us on the road we are intended to journey. Therein lies the miracle. Wishing you peace, clarity and joy in your journey.
thank you for your wisdom...your words are very timely :)
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