Can you believe it? I am breaking my rigid routine by writing a blog post in the evening rather than in the morning. Shocking, shocking.
I am slower in the evening. My brain isn't firing thoughts as quickly as it does in the early hours of the day. In some ways this mellowness is a relief. Actually, in a lot of ways it is a relief. My morning self needs to take a cue from my evening self. My morning self needs to learn the art of slowing down, the skill of stopping and sitting and seeing what the brain has to say rather than roaming around restlessly, unable to hear anything above the buzzing of the brain. Brains, man. They are just giant walnuts or small cauliflower heads. That's all.
Okay, my giant walnut seems to be a little too slow right now. I had some things I wanted to write, but what were they again? Something about the weather. About the storm that keeps almost happening. About how the clouds and the sun and the crisp blueness of the sky heal me over and over and over again. There is no limit to their power, I promise.
I wanted to write about the resurrection of a friendship. It isn't even a friendship -- it is a soulship. She has in her possession a part of my soul, although that is probably not true. Possession is such a strong, almost aggressive word. There is no aggression, no possession, just mirroring and connecting. I am so grateful for the wise decision I made to humble myself and apologize. And I am even more grateful for the beauty of forgiveness.
Lord, my evening posts are just dripping with syrup, aren't they?
I wanted to write about witchy ways and how the crone is the ideal and the woman who runs with the wolves is where I am headed, where we are all headed -- we just might take some detours along the way. Go howl. Now. I promise it will awaken something inside of you, something vital.
I wanted to write about, yes, my eating disorder. About recovery. About insecurity. About relapses and synapses and warm cinnamon toast dreams. I wanted to write about hunger. I wanted to write about fullness, but it was too intimidating. I wanted to write about territory, reclamation, letting go.
Instead I will go outside. I will go outside because outside has always been and always will be my sanctuary. It is my balm, my bread. It cares so little of me; it just let's me be. And that's exactly what I need right now.