31

Looking at photos of myself from this past winter makes me sad. I was suffering more than I realized -- and probably more than I realize now. I still am. Aren't we all? But maybe I am beginning to relax. Maybe I am beginning to loosen and open up. Maybe I am remembering the magic that's attached to relaxing into what is. My senses are returning and welcoming me home. (So am I returning or is it my senses?) I worry, however, about disappearing into that place again, that place devoid of light and juice and I don't want to lose the tastes and the nourishment that comes with allowing myself to naturally be who I am. Whoever she is. That fear may always be there -- but hope will always be there as well.