Shane is gone for two weeks, throwing pots (whenever I say this I imagine him standing on black and white checkered tiles, in an Italian kitchen, throwing clay, like pizza dough, into the air and singing a bombastic Italian melody with gusto, don't ask me why). I miss him.
It is interesting to have some time alone.
I have to renegotiate my axis, re-navigate my life and find my North again. These early years of motherhood are so externally driven: I laugh and play, I cook and nurture, I change diapers and sing lullabies, I chase and cavort. I love it all, every minute of it. And yet,when something shifts in the busy landscape of all my doingness, it creates a sort of vacuum- an empty space. An empty space in such a full life, does not go unnoticed. I look at it from various angles. It calls to me, like the pull of a river, calling me back to center. I try to ignore it, while so many vying things try to fill up the space- art, sewing, reading, writing, this blog, thinking, cleaning... and trust me I run to each of them with abandon, but this empty space sits there like a single star in a black sky, beckoning my gaze. I wonder... what would we, each of us, become if we cast off our shroud of busy-ness for just a while and gave ourselves over to that dark river of stillness. Would it carry us on it's silent waters back to our source, or would we forget, however briefly, that we are travelers borne on it's surface... and for that wonderful moment become the tide..buoyant, complete and immersed in the song of our own longing.
I wonder.
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