breathing room

I am on a hiatus.  . .an interlude. . .a pause. . .respite. . .a breather. . .from my creative businesses. . .from life as I’ve known it recently, striving to regain my health, to make ends meet, to plumb the depths of all the mysteries. . .

Time to just be for awhile, as some last external steps are taken with my mother’s things (are the internal steps ever finished?), and the medical tests are seemingly over with no answers, and I find myself wondering what to do next. . .

While I sit at the foot of one of those signs at the crossroads, prickly with choices, all I know for sure is that I don’t know what my next steps should be. So I will settle in and wait. And I am sure that there will be lots of stillness, likely with a book in my lap, but often left unopen while my eyes are drawn to the sky and the birds and the now-green world. . .

But there will also be much action. . .as I weave some of my mother’s things from her house (that is now someone else’s) into our own home. . .and as my deario and I unclutter our rooms and spaces to a depth we’ve never managed before. . .and as Life flows on around me with its honourings and tasks and celebrations…

It came to me a few days ago, in one of those moments of spaciousness that I am trying to make more and more room for, that I also need to make room inside of me. . .to let go of ways of being that no longer serve me, no doubt, but especially to let out all that I keep within. . .the feelings, ideas, connections, and wonderings that come so fast and strong in this Rosehip time, but that I struggle to express honestly.

For awhile now, I’ve hinted here that I want to be more of myself on these glass pages…not in the sense of sharing what feels right to keep private, but in the sense of not holding back from sharing what is flowering in my heart for fear of being judged. . .misunderstood. . .or making myself too vulnerable.

Do you know what I mean?

But it is time to begin. . .well, not begin, for I began when I started this blog eight years ago. . .but to continue on. . .more bravely and deeply. I do hold the hope that by bringing these tender thoughts out of storage and into the light-filled rooms of my online home that something will be freed up and released in my body and health. But I also know that they belong, as do all our possessions, to be well-cared for and placed thoughtfully and shared with those we welcome into our homes, not piled up in a dusty and dark closet. . .

While I was gazing up at the sky the other day, as I lay in our outdoor tub seeking relief from the pain, I saw at least three heart-clouds, but they formed and broke apart so quickly I couldn’t capture them in a photo. As well, I am trying to make friends with a new-to-me camera which my brother gave to me as my old camera is having issues. I am finding it an uncomfortable process, to learn how to use this new camera, knowing my photographs will look different as I try it out. Change. . .imperfection. . .not quite capturing what I long to…

I hope that I can persevere through the awkwardness and discomfort. . .of learning to use my camera. . .not really knowing what to do to get well. . .being more authentic here and everywhere. . .and discerning what exactly I am meant to be doing with my life. Giving myself lots of margin around it all seems the only possible way. . .

“She did not know anything about gardening, but the grass seemed so thick in some of the places where the green points were pushing their way through that she thought they did not seem to have room enough to grow. She searched about until she found a rather sharp piece of wood and knelt down and dug and weeded out the weeds and grass until until she made nice little clear places around them.

“Now they look as if they could breathe,” she said, after she had finished with the first ones. “I am going to do ever so many more. I’ll do all I can see. If I haven’t time today I can come tomorrow.”

-The Secret Garden

Frances Hodgson Burnett