Persephone kills me wit
h her posts. On a regular basis. Today, it’s this one. I needed to read these words today, to see these images, take note of these touchstones. Because I’ve been doing a lot of re-writing lately, and fuck — it’s exhausting. Tonight I’ve got nothing left, except a vague notion that I am distinctly uncomfortable.
Sometimes you can almost feel the planet spinning, you know? Sometimes I worry I’ll go flying off into the dark hinterlands. I worry that I’ve become a stranger to myself. That I don’t know the rules. That everything I thought was wrong.
Operating at a pitch only dogs can hear, it’s easy to lose your own sense of hearing. There’s only one remedy for all of this: retreat. Into the shell. Up the ladder. Under the covers. Onto the grass, the sand, the dirt.
I’m off in search of silence and that Still, Small Voice.
Photo credit: Jason J
I hear you. Me and the dogs. I’m heading out into the garden to bury my hands in the earth, then into a long, hot bath. Inwards. Indeed.
A wise plan, Marianne. I hope you find what you’re looking for.
Did you find some peace?
I did, Michael. Thank you. I’m still looking and still finding, as well. A trip that the lad and I are taking in another 10 days will help tremendously…
hey sister,
rest assured that retreat will do your soul well. even if afterwards you end up feeling like you’ve just left the planet of productivity… now what?… (that’s the space i’m in right now:)
the broken is where magic blooms. truly.
love,rach (mondobeyondo)
Ah, Rachael, thank you. Right there with you… you are so inspiring!