I had one of those phone calls a couple of weeks ago – the kind that when you hang up, you feel as though the whole world has shifted on its axis. Every time I think about my friend and her diagnosis, I go to the crazy, dark place where I just want to cry and scream every curse word I know – which, thanks to being raised in New Jersey, is quite a lot. And although this feels like a release in the moment, it leaves me in the crazy, dark place plus, my throat hurts, and it doesn’t do my friend a damn bit of good.
This weekend, I tried something different. I sat at my art table for hours on end, praying with paint and pastels. I had picked up a dozen or so wooden birds at my mom’s recent yard sale. I had no idea what I would do with them, but their simple silhouettes called to me with a sense of gentleness, kindness and grace. Letting these qualities in among the fear, the anger and the despair quelled the cacophony in my head and led me into the quiet of my heart. In this silent stillness, words surfaced.
I will be offering these words over the next couple of weeks – maybe accompanied by a reflection or a poem or maybe not. I have been struggling with what to say in this space lately, and finally made the decision to just show up (again) – as I am, with what I’ve got. Which at the moment is a heavy heart and a flock of painted birds. But somehow, right now, this feels like enough. xoS