You are currently browsing the daily archive for February 4, 2011.

Something happened last night.  I’m not exactly sure what, but it was important. 

I woke up long before dawn, maybe around four – I didn’t bother to check the time, but you can tell from the quality of slender light if it is less than the darkest time of night.  It wasn’t exactly waking.  It wasn’t exactly sleeping.  It wasn’t the kind of visitation that I used to have in the closest and most tumultuous periods of my relationship.  In other words, it wasn’t another person visiting me.  I don’t think I’ve ever quite experienced this before, and I’m struggling for the words to describe it, just as I am struggling to remember it.

In this time and space between sleeping and waking, between darkness and dawn, I learned things.  I understood things.  Things were revealed to me, truths that perhaps I had known and denied, or perhaps hadn’t known at all.  But truths nonetheless.  They were poignant, painful, comforting messages from the universe.  Perhaps the universe knew that I couldn’t hear them, hold them, understand them unless I was at a peaceful place where my emotions were not standing center-stage – and that place was betwixt and between. 

I cannot for the life of me remember what I learned in this space, but I don’t think that it matters that I can’t consciously recall it.  It was planted in me like a seed into earth worn down by winter, but burgeoning with the promise of spring.  I lived in this space for about 90 minutes, then went back to sleep for a little while.  I woke feeling different.  For one thing, I was hungry, which I hadn’t felt in longer than I can remember.  For another thing, I was motivated to clean things, change things.  It was like coming out from the ether.  It was like surfacing for air after being underwater for almost too long.  It almost felt like the person I knew two and a half years ago, who was strong, changing and loveable. 

I know I am on a journey here.  Right now feels like being in the eye of a hurricane – calm, with the sun breaking through the clouds, though a dark bank of storm is still to come, a time when I (I had originally written “we”, but correct myself, as there is no “we”) can walk out on the beach and assess the damage up to this point, and start thinking about what needs to be done.  There will be more waves, swells and swamping as I put my little boat back in the water to continue on.  More tears, more desperate pain, more embarrassed anger.  Those things have happened before  – never to this extent, but they have happened.  I can only hope that after this time, they will never happen to this extent again.  But I can’t dwell on them.  I can’t live there.  I want to live in that loveable, strong woman I was – but now, more clear on my own value and my own worth.  And I have pity – but not for myself.

Photo Title: Boots In Waiting

Cheyenne, Wyoming.

Quote of the day: “Don’t worry about losing.  If it is right, it happens.  The main thing is not to hurry.  Nothing good gets away.”  —  John Steinbeck

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