I’ve been watching the moon grow a bit each day. A new moon shining behind dark clouds.
Last Sunday I sat among winter shadows and winter light. Snow was falling, like ice, making music on the frozen ground. When I continued walking, a white field stretched out before me, and I could feel the cold light going through me, pale as snow. Sometimes I think I love winter light most of all….but that might change come spring. And oh how I long for spring!
I was in love with pink for a while, and still am. But it came into my life very gently, like the moment before dawn. A blush of rose on the horizon. One lonely star looking back at me. It was all I could manage. The softest hint of color. The lightest brush of love against my guarded, and very bruised heart. I like to think it was the healing touch of the Goddess. She still seems to me like the most beautiful, pink and crystal light.
I was so lost. I wasn’t living. I was buried inside of myself. I remember sitting on the train home one night and knowing very well that I wasn’t living my life. I didn’t know how. I was frozen solid. And I was waiting, wondering when….when will I be able to live again?
Now I want joy. That’s a beginning. Before the longing for joy wasn’t even there. Now I want it very much. I want freedom. More color in my life. I remember how light I felt as a child. How easily laughter bubbled up from my stomach. Now my body is aching and hurting from some strange tension I can’t seem to release. But as I look deeper I see a murkiness, like a dark lake that I haven’t looked into before. Another layer of my past.
And writing is my lifeline out of those murky waters. Out of myself.
I need small moments of beauty, of wonder. An overcast sky with the sun coming through, seagulls floating in the distance, white feathers catching the light. To wake up in the morning to their call, knowing that the ocean is close by.
Christmas has passed. It was a beautiful time for me, especially Advent and the Winter Solstice. Christmas itself is always rather painful since I miss my family, and I feel a pressure to be happy. That I should be happy when instead I’m hurting. It still surprises me that I feel this way after so many years. Maybe you can relate?
My husband and I are spending a few days on the coast of northern Italy. Really, we’re not doing much….just being away from things. Reflecting on the year to come. I walk by the ocean, even though the city is yelling in my ears. I need to be near water – it calms me. And I love watching the ocean. The endless blue, or stormy grey. Its voice that pulls and tugs on me without words, just a deep longing I can’t quite name.
I also wanted to start writing again, because I fell out of my routine during Christmas. And I don’t feel quite right without words and stories in my head.
When I write, something rushes in. A white, beautiful magical wind. I remember to breathe. I remember to listen. The Goddess feels closer – a soft, pink feather in my heart. A gentle smile.
Not sure what else to add. Italy is nice, though I’m not very good at sightseeing. I usually just end up at a cafe, or I aimlessly walk around watching the ocean, or the decorations in the shop windows.
Just wanted to update this blog because I often start on a post and then never finish it. I suppose I put pressure on myself to write something interesting, and then all my words fall away.
A lovely blog of comics that resonate so much with me