i am waiting, still, for the spark to return. i am used to a project, a cause, a lurch toward something. But all things within and without remain quiet.
there are so many layers to this coming down and coming down from pointed focus and casualty.
i carry on.
i am seen.
but i am not the same and i have yet to discover all the ways in which that is true.
i do find i am able to see my habits and defenses more clearly in all this quiet. my tactics for self-preservation make me laugh and wince.
in this ongoing beginning disguised as an end, i am coming to know myself better. in that knowing, more choices present themselves. even if i feel smaller than ever before, a promise of great renewal has infused itself in the layers of coming down.
in the soft light of spring, the only important question is how well do i mother myself.