Gratitude and the coming dark

The house is quiet. Everyone’s asleep. The rain has mostly stopped, but I can still hear water dripping from the roof and trees. The partly changed leaves look especially golden against the thick, grey sky. And all I want to do is write.

I’m not sure I have anything to say, honestly, but opportunities like this don’t happen everyday. So it seems best to make the space, put butt in chair so to speak, and see what happens.

I find myself feeling grateful for my life. And not just because it’s Thanksgiving. Rather, because my life is magical. I’m surrounded by the most amazing things. And it’s not just having, say, a good husband or a good kid. It’s the way those things came into my life. It’s the daily burst-your-heart-open joy they cause. Maybe it’s the price I paid to get here.

Next week, I’m going to start writing the memoir of my fall. On Tuesday, to be exact. I’ve been clearing space in my life with the intention of starting in December and I’ve decided to use the new moon as my target. Seems appropriate. Even more so since it’s a new moon in Sagittarius, sign of teaching, storytelling, philosophy and adventure… Also my sun sign. Convenient for me that it falls at the beginning of December this year.

I’m scared to start. It’s something I’ve been dreaming about for 11 years and it’s the ultimate passion project for me. I can only think of one dream that’s closer to my heart and it’s not a project. It’s an accomplishment (nope, not gonna talk about that right now). So as far as things I want to do, to create, this is IT.

I’ve known since a few months after I was injured that I was living a book. Such extraordinary things were happening to me, SUCH magic was appearing in my life, and at the most difficult time imaginable. I always wanted to capture the story. I did, to some degree, with Caterpillar Soup. But that was only a 90-minute play. So much had to be left out. And so much happened after Caterpillar Soup opened. I’ve always known there would be a book. I just didn’t know when.

And now, here it is, just around the corner.

I love that I’ll be starting in the dark. These next few weeks will be the darkest of the year, leading up to and just after the winter solstice. It’ll be just like the dark of the womb. Makes me want to actually wait until nightfall and write by candlelight. We’ll see what actually happens. Probably won’t be quite as theatrical as that but you never know. I’m going to need all the help I can get creating sacred space for this book.

It’s not just that it’s close to my heart. It’s that the story feels so much bigger than me. It’s always been so much bigger than me. My primary job in writing it will be to get out of the way and let the story tell itself. The spark of conception is not mine to supply, nor the miracle of gestation. Mine is only the nourishing womb to bring, steadfast and faithful. I can do that. Maybe you can help me.

The sky is clearing now outside. Aidan and Dean will be up soon from their nap. Reba is wagging her tail in her sleep, and the warmth of my kitchen is calling. Thanks for sharing this little slice of miracle with me. I hope you had a lovely Thanksgiving.

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3 Responses to Gratitude and the coming dark

  1. amy ferris says:

    i love you so….

  2. Jennie B. says:

    You are a blessing. Thank you for sharing yourself so truly and deeply.

  3. Jenni says:

    Love that you are sharing your process and your journey, you truly are amazing. Thank you for letting be here with you.

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