I committed to my own therapist that I’d be writing, I don’t feel like writing in my journal, processing and tracking seem obsolete right now, but this, this sitting quiet, breathing deep in my corner.  Smudging with herbs I grew and blessed and harvested myself.  Candle dance touching that spot in my heart that muscles with meaning, the warmth of my afghan even against the draft and rain at the window.

When we fight it is easy to convince myself we are different.  I can go for days avoiding my own wounds by focusing only on him.  Calling my blame proactive, preventative.  Not realizing I am seeing out when this happens from behind my own walls.  Not realizing it, because walls block the more truthful perspective of a greater view.

I went to Ocean View to recharge and unplugged for three days.  No social media, still none, I feel so much more at ease when not on the pulse of the cortisol hit that keeps me checking in checking in checking in.  I look forward to patients this week and will hold at least a virtual circle, if not more, to nurture and restore.  My cousin called from Alabama to wish me birthday blessings, I get weepy-eyed when I see him and later, after finally my grandma Facetimes for the first time from the new nursing home she’s in, sob hearty, meaty cries that feel like gulps of air after you’ve been a long time stale, boxed in.

It hurts all this living, all this separating and connecting because the heart needs both to carry on.  It hurts and that is the only thing I know for sure, what we all have in common, and other than this, our ability also to let go.

I have selfish thoughts I won’t write here and also, am in love with him, and this startles me at least as much as it soothes my soul.  Before they closed the beach I went to the wild island.  It was the last day of winter last week and the tide of in-between.  When I first got there two mourning doves stood still in the road so that I had to stop my car.  I allowed for the medicine to sink me into my heart, I had the time to be on no time so I listened and waited til my body was still and open enough to abandon to the whim, to where it would lead me to go.  Only then did the birds start to move. A motion of agreement between me and them and the sweet divine Soul of All Things. So then I beachcombed, and there were answers there, the kind the soul needs, the kind only the soul can receive.

Eventually I found a mermaid phone, main line to the Mama Source. Ancient Mama Sacred Mama Blessed Mama~ via the Sea.  At least that’s what I’d call it, my nieces and me.  The way I found the phone, this whelk, pictured (a posed pic, not how I found it) below, was part of the answers, the beach combing spring coming mama medicine of being in process, and trusting it, that is private and only for me.

But that is because when I begin within, and trust Source, my recharge feeds so many others, too.  And the precious light-felt whim touched alchemy of this larger grace process is one of the few only things I know for certain to be totally true.

As if to prove this, galloping me onward toward the Medicine~Come, Spriiiing~  a band of wild horses took up in front of my truck when I was leaving, a mama and her babe running at the head of the pack.  Running wild, free down the center of the road, leading me, me following the whim, the Mama Ancient Mama present mama holy Mama nature  Medicine, Soul of all Things, leading onward the coming Spring…

I only was able to get my camera out at the last moment bc true medicine isn’t for image, it’s for in-moment bliss.  By the time I caught this wild one here, the others had jumped the pedestrian rail and run off, into the wild island mudflat brush.

Life happens.  So does Spring.

The words?  Are the blessings blessings bring.