this is one of those days when one sits with fingers wavering over keys... uncertain of what to say, what to write...but wanting to. wanting to write the feelings that are here in the present moment...
this is one of those days when other words needing to be written sit waiting...
waiting in line, their turn, in the wings... for the words that bring solace and will are those to which the soul yet still gives precedence...and that desire to first write words for no reason at all than their own sake sems a kind of evidence of green life still present...
sitting, wisely or not, plugged into music that i associate with Sonoran dust, saguaro spires, seduction of shrines... seduction of brilliance and brokenness colliding with mute fear... the langour of Sunday poured and melting over ice and suited decks... the sprawling flatness of the city 5,000 miles away, where i think a piece of me will always reside...
the horizon here so limited, the sky hanging low and grey... when sun comes one feels gratitude... i miss having my breath stolen by ranges on all sides erupting from the desert floor jagged and mauve as the constant, faithful, always present sun climbs and falls...
but the desert alone could not win the battle for me... could not appease muteness nor frustration, bring the inside peace longed for, keep the bright light aflame...
and in truth, these grey days are improved, or no... these past few days, i in them... calmer, finding a steady rhythmic... small structure being pieced together... tentative plans made and determination to see it through... taking shelter in a smaller nest, tending broken wing with gentleness rather than frantic beating... sitting with feelings rather than grabbing at solutions... accepting the liminal... the transition...making changes that may seem to be retreat but are maybe necessary...
facing the morning mirror i see flecks of life returning to eyes... contrasting with dark kohl beneath freshly shorn hair... making craft of collapse as fragile redemption... remembering how to find expression as well as comfort in the colour and texture of my protective layer upon layer... so similar to feeling the unseen boundary around me solidify... falling back into myself... trying to see strength in claiming that small patch of secure, sacred ground... the affirmation and constancy of those protecting that patch come hell or high water... regardless of shadows, seeing light... these are not days for devises or dodges or putting up a front...and ambitions are small...but better small ambitions than none...
these are days of holding on...no answers... but presence... to draw hands in around the flame is thoroughly pedestrian... ordinary... without adventure...there is no seduction in these days...days that betray the exhaustion depression has wrought by their need for gentleness...
but far from the frantic manic, here is a balm of no-bullshit constancy pulling me up to zero... and that is what will get me through, whatever the weather... for as one lets out tentative, silk-fine but perhaps-as-strong threads of hope to imagine one might yet dance again... the soul is gently massaged back to strength with soft, intentional life-bringing words of love... and i in turn am quietly gratitudinal... that this is not over yet... that she'll pull through...
the bird has no other way to build its nest than by one twig at a time...
LB
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