It has started, the dark time of year that I don't think in the past I acknowledged finding hard, but I do now. And this week's earlier and earlier darkness seemed to coincide with several "dark nights of the soul."
I have had a rental right near Lake Superior all summer that was in ways simply idyllic, and perfect for working on my book. I can hear the waves on the big lake, and see sunsets and rowers and ore ships on the bay. I am surrounded by the water I love so much, hear lapping even when the window is closed. Unfortunately, this situation is not likely to last beyond November 1, so this wandering mystic will have to wander on, again, as the weather here is beginning to get brutal. I've been writing like crazy, hoping to finish at least the hand-written part of the book this month, although I find I have to pace myself. It's emotional, challenging writing.
And then all of a sudden last week, I was limping heavily on a very painful left leg, without even having fallen. A trip to Urgent Care told me that it was something called I T band syndrome, and rest, some pain relief and physical therapy will help. But once again, I lurched from feeling young-ish to ancient; reminded of what a total miracle walking is. Astonished that I've usually done it beautifully, ever more conscious of the fragility of that miracle.
I don't know, I just had a few days when I wanted my mom, even though she was never the nurturing type. If not my mom, then the Great Mother, a warm hugging presence in the sky who would go, "There, there, Liz. It's all going to be OK. Here's a fresh-baked chocolate chip cookie." Only She wasn't there either. I suddenly realized that She is in me, also exiled, wandering, trying to find safe shelter, trying to be heard in a world that appears to have lost its collective mind.
What has at least partially brought me out of this dark night was validating that I have known since I was about six who I am and where my home is. I am a mystic, and my home is in the choir stalls of English cathedrals. Period. When I root myself in this, I stop freaking out. I'm beyond wondering at the illogic of this, and needing to understand. It simply is, whether I am singing or not. I am also done trying to figure out how to get home. It will happen because it is now time to stop wandering. I am beyond wondering and beyond wandering. My legs and my soul are ready to be rooted. They are ready to sink into more permanent soil, finally a more unified person.
