I almost kicked myself for not doing this page yesterday, but I'm still trying to trust the Muse, who's biggest job seems to be teaching me that "timing is everything".
I've known I wanted to use Darkness for my D word, but somehow it just didn't click yesterday. With the weather teasing "snow", and the pots on the stove bubbling turkey gumbo, "darkness" just didn't fit. And I woke up this morning, knowing why.
I've learned over the years to befriend the darkness, knowing that it's the womb that gives life. I've learned not to be afraid of the darkness as much as I used to be. And I've learned that waiting is part of the "it" of befriending darkness.
But this morning, I woke up knowing that at the end of darkness comes DAWN. And part of what I'm waiting for is the beginning of something new that comes with the dawn.
The pieces of poetry on the pages are from a poem I wrote in October, entitled:
The End of Winter's Long Night.
The long night is nearly over.
The edges of morning sun's rosy dawn
creep into night's black sky,
and I am left tired to the bone.
It has been a long winter's night,
but I live.
My hip hurts,
but my heart is free.
And I limp.
I no longer stand tall with ready answers.
My hip is out of joint,
and I lean--
listing like a broken down sailboat.
What I was yesterday is only
a discolored spot on a wall,
a shadow,
a distant memory.
My feet are no longer tightly fitted
in shoes of certitude.
I walk with bare feet now.
And I lean.
But the long night is over,
and I live to see a new day.
Only one thing is certain now--
the Life Giver walks among us.
(Genesis 32.24-31 and Song of Solomon 8.5)
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