Days I Can Trust. And a book to finish…

I’ve begun to wonder if becoming in love isn’t something that happens in a flash of lightning, but something that emerges slowly, painfully, tenderly as we come to know someone, come to accept their presence, their needs and desires, even when they are other than what we imagined we wanted, imagined we would need to be safe and secure. I have lived almost three decades, still a young woman most people would say, and it has taken this long for me to begin to know and love this girl that I am, its taken me until now to open the doors and windows of myself and to give air to what has been here all along. A home for me to grow up inside of, to learn within, to experience the pain and grief from, a place from which to die in the end and over and over again along the way.

After sleep yesterday I drove out to Mirror Lake, walked to the beach and swam and swam—my body kept carrying me further and further—I went slowly, I stretched my arms and legs into the weight and motion of the water. I floated on the water and listened to the world beneath the air, I gazed at the vast sea of blue and cotton clouds above me. Who knew this existed right here below and above me, if I only opened myself to it? In the late afternoon I slept more, I biked out of town and back, lied in bed and read, sat at the kitchen table and read. So this is it? What I’ve been waiting for – days that are my own. Days I can trust. Days that feel like home. Remind me when I’m no longer here that this exists. Remind me when my mind is rushing me on to some undefined critical point in the future that this day happened, that I lived it, that I still carry it in my body and can return to it.

This is an excerpt from my not yet finished book: Waking Up at Home. You can help me finish it. How? By contributing to my kickstarter campaign and sharing it with all your community. Check it out here.

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