I am currently in between seasons. That place between ending one life chapter and beginning another. And I am restless. I want to ‘get going’. But all signs point to staying exactly where I am because whatever is taking form within my being for this next stage is not quite ready yet.
I have been putting pen to paper for a long time, I have written articles, poetry and even a book, and yet I had no recollection of ever meeting my Muse.
So I went to meet her.
Before she introduced herself to me and made herself visible, she brought me back to my mum’s kitchen where I was making chocolate biscuits. I loved cooking and baking as a child and my mum would let us experiment freely in the kitchen, it was bliss.
Sitting here in this in between space as we go through a journaling process, I realise that I have always been an ‘inbetweener’. I grew up between two villages, on the east coast of Ireland between the land and the sea. I have never ‘belonged’ to a place, a tribe, a concept, always hovering at the edges, dipping in and stepping out as needs be.
I felt it.
The sap rising in my bones
Just a trickle
But enough to make me turn on the radio
And bop to pop in my living room
So damn grateful for its return
And the aliveness that it brings.
Got sucked down the rabbit hole of being seen yesterday.
Walked through the land of my egoic mind – needy, clingy, desperate, claustrophobic.
Crossed a bridge into the realm of the soul – desiring, witnessing, yearning, deep presence.
When I was young my dad used to light the fire in our kitchen on winter mornings. He had his own ritual for cleaning the grate, removing the ashes, setting the kindling and feeding air to the fire so that the flame would take and the fire would burn strong. So this morning as Read More