Posted by: scintillatingspeck | August 31, 2013


A week ago, I returned home.  I had gone on a journey, far away, seeking clarity, adventure, and connection, and those things were given to me in spades, although “clarity” all too often looks like one of those days when the rain is coming down in sheets and most of the sky is a deep gray-black, save for sudden, incongruous bursts of brilliant sunshine while the raindrops continue their urgent race to the ground, seemingly illuminated from within with golden light.

But oh, that sunshine is grace itself, warm, healing, life-giving, steady, generous, and ever-present, no matter how the forming and dissolving clouds are spun in motion.

I went away, and came back, and that insistent voice, whispering in a shaky rasp, said Your mind won’t stop; your heart won’t stop; you must follow them where they lead.  Clarity!  You want answers?  Everyone wants answers.  How many people get to see and feel that sunshine?  You think your journey is over?  It’s not over.

It’s not over.

Last night it hit me with full force, just how not over it is.  I cried and cried, seeing all that truth and grace bursting through, both exquisite and excruciating to behold, calling me forward through the cascade of tears.  Drop everything.  Really.  It’s necessary.  Go away, away from people.  Get on your bike.  Start pedaling.  Keep pedaling.  Stop in a place that’s beautiful and quiet.  There you will sit and write.  You will be open, eyes open, mind open, heart open, soft and raw.

I did it.  I heeded that demand.  I’m “away” now, and very much Here.

What insights have been fruiting, just waiting for their chance to fill the forest after the rain, unstoppable fungi feeding on the detritus of old anguish?

I want to be as happy as possible while I’m alive.

I don’t want stagnant, unexamined pools of feeling in my life–I want to stir those waters even if it unsettles the aquatic residents, even if the pools boil over and evaporate.

I want my life to be filled with meaning.  I want to feel free and flexible and engaged.  I want to feel profoundly connected with other people.

I want to write.

I want my child to be able to say, “My mother isn’t throwing herself under the bus in some twisted idea of martyrdom in order to ‘serve’ me–she is herself, expresses herself, looks out for her own needs, and by doing so, she gives me the vision to do the same, to live fully.”

I’m going to die, sooner or later.  Can you, also, take this in about yourself?  We’re going to die.  I’m not trying to strike fear in your, or my, heart–I’m just stating a bald fact.  It serves as my lodestone, orienting me to my deepest priorities, acknowledging that time, insofar as we are wired to perceive it, is finite.  What can we change, and to what must we be resigned?  In my little, singular life, with whatever time I have, I think there’s quite a lot I can change.  And I have changed.  My perceptions of risk and safety have shifted dramatically in the past year.  Illusions have fallen away.  There are certain “rules” and “limits” that I no longer recognize as legitimate.  Other, much larger, universal principles have become apparent.  I’m still a human animal, still living in this culture, still subject to various fears and insecurities; I don’t put myself above anyone by writing this, but it bears recognition, at least within myself, that I’ve changed, irrevocably, and it’s a good thing.

The clouds still move and morph through the sky.  Change is still unfolding, within and without, nervously at times, growing in confidence with each breath of the western wind.  Here it comes, my loves.


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