Turtle Bones

I want nothing but neat solutions, elegant is how I’d liken them. I don’t want to buy more or work harder (less of both would be alright), but I do want to rearrange space and time to create a more nurturing space for my family. One that is lovely and in proportion to our needs, so that we can play, give and receive care, heal, be nourished, grow and learn.

These streams of consciousness I’ve been attempting to record all these thirty odd, literature-strewn years and now, I seek day by day and word by word to refine my message.

I am sniffing out the threads that link piece to piece and, through their weave, make the whole something to behold. So, I walk and walk, I write and write: for sanity, for hope, my medicine.

And, nature is my balm, my eyes caressing the contours, feet imprinted with the lay of the land. I am measured against mountainsides, embraced by the forest, the ocean and any day I can let the birds’ voices, bodies in the air do the magic of lifting my heart along with my gaze.

Lately, I have been drifting, unmoored, my inner compass beclouded. I am praying on this season of advent to work it’s way deep into me, the waiting, the hush, living by candlelight and rote movement. Trusting that on the other side, the light is always waiting.

And if this don’t work, then find me in the new year, I’ll be on the mountain top, in the peyote tent, picking up turtle bones and throwing the I Ching in the general direction of our future.

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