Okay, so here we are in the still point of the year — when the length of the day is barely increasing (adding just a mere 29 seconds today, rather than any increment that is noticeable). In my retreat into essential self, to just my place of two feet on the earth, I expected fully to only continue to see what I need to shift and release. I didn’t expect to stare my life in the face and discover a whole new vista.
Or, rather, one significantly rearranged.
And making sense.
I stand in a place where I can actually take action, even if it is only one step, then the next. These steps, the life they murmur, seem very small, reduced to following a single Ariadne thread, and yet wholly alive in a new and astonishing way.
All of a sudden I see how I am devoting my path to Grandmother wisdom, walking it, speaking it, and listening it back into the world.
I see that a dedication to living, loving, breathing, manifesting Because Of The Red Fox magic (aka “my book”) is absolutely my unfinished business and my first essential step.
I know in my bones (for the first time) that it is time to return to the island, and move into our house. I have chosen a date: March 20. For whatever reason, I have not felt this way before, and perhaps work on our house-in-progress somehow mirrored that (as outer life often does).
This also tells me that the unfinished business we’ve had here in the San Francisco Bay Area is completing — and indeed, I felt some last jewel sparkle into place yesterday during a simple fun game of bocce ball (I’ve never played before) shared with my mom-in-law (in honor of her birthday), my sister-in-law, my niece, and my two kids.
I’m moving into the simple, sweet, intensely magic and vibrant life that has always trailed along or rampaged or hunkered down or wept or shouted or whispered or held its intense angry silence in my heart.
Suddenly I know what to do. Like: sketch a lesson plan for my first Forest Halls Folk College course offering (coming in spring or summer).
I can’t tell you how much gratitude mushes up in my heart. I’m sure I’ll always be wandering — in my life, in my imagination, in and out of or beyond reality. But it’s just plain nice to finally get to a ferny grove amidst the criss-crossing paths where I know at last that Forest Halls is real.