Daily Archives: 17 . February . 2013

spilling open


The night (and weekend) is drawing to a close. I am laying in bed in the darkness, savouring the sweetness of a couple of freesia blossoms on the simple altar set up on my dresser, my feet warming beneath my blankets, toes tucked under an herbal heat pack stuffed with rosemary and lavender.

I’m feeling sad again, though I truly can’t name the exact cause of my sadness. It is many things, really. Mourning losses, over again; could have beens, never wases and should have beens. Never agains.

I mourn that I have no living parents left.

I mourn that the only sibling I have has grown so distant from me over the years that we can’t even share the truth of our hearts, or have adequate words with which to do so, or trust that no matter what, we will not add to the other’s pain.

I mourn that the relationship that I thought I had with my husband, at first imagining that it would be solid and impervious to all storms, proved itself to be something else entirely.

I mourn that the one relationship I thought could weather such a storm, or the capacity to grow into one that could, is being experienced by another person who in so many ways is very much like myself.

I mourn my younger self, who was beautiful even though she never thought she was, though she still had enough confidence in her appearance to know she could sometimes be almost pretty, and her body was still desirable to someone that she might also find desirable.

I mourn the silencing of my heart, the part that was intrepidly pursuing love despite repeated failed attempts.

There is a saying (from Rumi, I believe, or perhaps Hafiz) that says that to love gives us strength and to be loved gives one courage. This is true, but I think, also, that it takes great courage to love – to really surrender to loving another and *to the love of* another – but to do so also gives one great strength. I know this to be true, because I have felt how unwavering that sense of faith is in the strength of a common love. The hard part for me, now, is to overcome my skepticism about the transient nature of this love, to allow it to infuse me, should it ever present itself to me again.

Perhaps, when that happens, my faith and spirituality will also, once again, be restored.

on being vulnerable and open


Blogging has once again slowed to a crawl. Between fits of writing (both poetry and prose) and shooting the odd photo when I am awed by my surroundings, I also fulfill other functions: single-parent mothering, full time office working, part time (and very novice) yogining, friend being (to many, far and wide, and close), and occasional knitting. (That Hogwartz/Gryffindor scarf is creeping along slowly.) And soon to be (officially) a divorcée. Weird, this final severing. Such a huge chunk of my life tied in to this now defunct part of who I was and identified with, still searching to pick up the threads of where “I” left off and veered off from so long ago, in order to reclaim myself.

My ex-husband has been in a relationship with someone for quite some time now, and yet I continue to be alone in my life. Not because I don’t wish to share it with another, but because I wish to share it with the right person, and we just haven’t met yet. I also continue to nurse past hurts; it is surprising to me how long they take to heal. I wonder, sometimes, if they heal better when you let them show and share them with others, allowing them to be loved away. Still, I can’t seem to do that yet, even though I long to be able to do so, to be able to open my heart again to another.

I am happy, though, in this simplicity. Each time I look around me I appreciate what I have, the beauty that I see, in nature and in those whose lives cross with mine. I see kindness and humour and fearless vulnerability. And love. I am blessed.