The want for spilling here is so vast and I hold it down, swallow it. I wonder if you want to hear what it is that I have to say and I wonder if you'll still be here after I say it.
I've come back to making this my own space, for me. To spill. To dream. To mourn and to mend.
This season has been a bizarre one. There are lessons so vast that I feel as if I've only begun to get my feet wet, and even in that edginess, it feels as if the current will pull me under.
Two months ago I sat in a doctor's office going over ultrasounds and blood tests. My body already knew long before I sat in that chair. Within moments I was in the midst of biopsies and fears. It all stops in those moments. It doesn't matter the outfit you chose or mascara you wear. Waterproof or not, the tears flow the same.
It all turned out alright. Well I mean the words were benign, but still my body declares all is not right. The symptoms persist and the demands for healing go beyond sleep, food and herbs.
And then my littlest love sunk back into her pain and misery as well. Her pain at being adopted is limitless. She hurts. We've extended the resources for attachment healing and feeling so helpless, I reached out. In my echoes, one of my dearest friends said to me " Have you considered that this might be more than attachment? That maybe this is something more" and I wept, deep sobbing cries rose from my depths, because deep down I knew. And didn't want to know.
The writing, which is my life line gets pushed aside and I sink into it all. Allowing it all to consume and stake claim. But I've dropped anchor, in this mild sea and I'm ready to change course, to make my own declarations and to go within and without.
I'm reminded that my life is the lab. That all is mystery and that seasons change. That I can be a witness to myself.