photo by Patricia
Each morning fear is addressed. Gathering the thoughts, feelings and instincts together takes great effort. For most others it seems to come naturally. For me, since the age of 8, it does not. Split apart, it feels safer to stay that way.
Such courage each morning mustered. Cajoling the separate entities to come home, inviting each but with some ambiguity, takes doing and time. Slowly, like stepping into a bath feeling the temperature, is it safe? It feels like a dangerous prospect.
And then, the harmonious stereo of the soft cooing doves enters my soul, the buzzing of the hummingbird behind me in the brilliant orange quince bush, the rustling of the leaves that opened with the warm weather as the breeze brushes through them, the tree frogs croaking their chorus much louder than their little bodies would imply, and then the gathering of a fresh basket of lilacs in my bathrobe and boots on an overcast wispy wet morning.
It is hard to come home each morning and face the day whole. Work is needed to listen to the body and meet its needs, something that can’t be done successfully when living outside of it.