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.