Not about writing. About life and there's no pinpoint to it. A general dissatisfaction that crept into my bones and flooded every cell with a hopelessness. Bless my husband for he is long-suffering and a good listener and we walked around the neighborhood and I vented and he tried to take responsibility (as usual) and I grabbed at that and refused to let go (as usual).
This morning the sun woke me up before the alarm clock. All night, between dreams, I'd wondered at my change in mood. The month of June found me feeling great: no pain, no fatigue beyond the norm, and no debilitating brain fog tentacled around a general bad mood and depression. Then July came to stay and brought with it an ogre and I'm swinging my ax left and right and connecting with smoke. And mirrors. The kind that reflect back at you what you "should" have done or what you "should" be doing.
Can I just tell you how much I hate that word?
OK, it's not the word's fault. It's the judgment that comes hand-holding when you look at your reflection and freak out because you aren't exactly where you envisioned you'd be by now. Of course, what do we really know when we're 10. True, our child selves are infinitely wiser than our adult selves and if we want to live authentically, we need to sink deep, kneel down, and ask her/him, "What the hell is going on here?"
So I got my knees dirty and I asked and little old me laughed in my big, adult face and took off running down a pine needled path. My crinkled knees cracked a bit as I wobbled to stand then rushed as fast as I could. I ran through dappled sunlight as the humid breeze rustled past and I heard her laugh, pause, keep going.
Footfalls were muffled and the oaks reached high. A fork in the road made me turn right, left, then I heard her and I kept going straight, through what was more deer track than cleared walkway. Finally, I caught her. I was out of breath and she, still laughing, looked at me and smiled. She jerked her head behind her and I saw a house sat in a clearing, surrounded by gardens, settled in the midst of a circle of trees that widened the sky and let the light all around.
Oh I recognized the house alright; I'd been there many times before. When I was true and real and not trying to BE. When breathing was easy and my feet were bare and I didn't care if my bangs grew past my ears and became one with the rest of the wild kelp bed on top of my head, all strings and frizz and thistle down. I felt the warmth of the sun and slipped off my shoes so my toes could exhale. I could smell the trees again and I knew the rosemary for what it was. My fingers raked over the mint and moths flew past, back to where the little girl I was once stood. She was gone and the moths kept flying back into the dark of wood. And I walked forward, up three steps plus two, and knocked gently on the blue front door.
I suppose it's no surprise that I answered.
* * * * *
I hope your weekend was lovely and your Monday has started off with a freshness that gives you breathing room. May your work bring you joy and may your thoughts run only to wildness and the freedom that only YOU can bring you :)
Tell me: Have you ever asked your younger self for a road map? Have you ever felt lost in your own life? Have you ever felt the need to run head-long down a faded trail in your mind to see where it leads? Have you ever followed it back to yourself? And tell me, Dear Ones, was it a fantastic, frightening homecoming back to your true reality?
Ah, this fairy tale we call Life...