space, the final frontier

I’ve just moved through a difficult priority shifting process.  I feel ever clearer  on the other side.  It was a complex and painful time, filled with anxiety, fear and discouragement.  Something occured during this season that gave me legs to get up and run towards the end for which I’m certain I was created.  I’ve felt it in my bones for a long time now and am likening it to singing a new song or returning home.  The emotions involved are not the marrow sucking dryness felt after engaging in other “seemingly good causes” but rather a filling, restorative, invigorating motion destined for something altogether different.

In Blue Pastures, Mary Oliver discusses her busy teaching schedule, “I like to teach, but I don’t like to give up anything else–writing, walking, and of course the important: “idling and dreaming” that every poet must do.”

I read this and suddenly had permission to do that which needed to be done.  Create space.  Breathe.  Wide open areas for pontification, deliberation, digestion.  At least as much as is in my control at this stage in my life.

How much processing and mulling and wrestling and stretching of ideas or emotions or thoughts can be done when you barely have time to bathe yourself and feed your family?  I’m not suggesting other activities aren’t valuable or fodder for expression, but I have found any stillness I’ve scraped together lately to be wrought with exhaustion, guilt and worry. 

I may have to struggle with this again next week, for now I’m allowing my arms to stretch and my sigh to return.wide-open1

**Sculpture by Joy Purchase, titled Wide Open.

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