Today I lit a candle and jotted my thoughts as I set my intentions for the weeks ahead. It’s a new moon, which means it’s a perfect time for a new start.
As I reviewed my words and phrases, I noticed creativity appeared more than once on my list. It’s been a major theme of mine this year, and it make sense it’s time to refresh my focus. The past couple of weeks I’ve had to turn my attention to less than creative projects that take up a lot of mental energy. Today I finished the heavy lifting on much of that, and I felt free!
I love it when I see evidence of my internal state in the external world, and this popped up just now:
I’m excited to turn my attention back to creative pursuits – everything from cooking, writing and seduction, to even rebuilding my connection to español.
It’s a new moon. What’s your new start?
Take time to stop and smell the roses.
It’s an old sentiment, but one I’m thinking about as I fly home. I’m above the clouds now, and over my shoulder I spy the warming tones of the setting sun.
The sight made me want for Florida at first. But on second thought, what I’m missing is beauty. Winter’s cloudy, chilly mornings have kept me indoors on days I’d rather run.
Running outdoors is my meditation. My journal. It’s high fives to the rabbits who line the greenway, and smiles to the rising sun. It’s awe with flowers blooming in spring, leaves turning in autumn. It’s deep breaths in time with my feet – percussion behind a chorus of birds.
It’s been a while.
Sometimes my entire work day is spent in the bowels of a school. Cinder blocks obstruct the sun and the evergreens right along with cell service. “I’m in a bunker today,” I tell Blue.
The moments left before sunset are spent navigating Atlanta’s traffic. If you wait too late to hit 400 from 285, you might as well stay put another hour or two.
Despite an uncooperative schedule, it’s easy enough to experience beauty.
Seek and ye shall find.
It is dangerous to hold fast to anger toward another.
Perhaps even poisonous.
One may look around one day, only to find herself rotting, dying a slow death from the inside. And yet, aware as I am of this simple point, I catch myself, arms wrapped ‘round my body, one crossed over another, refusing to release it. It’s almost comforting, this anger. Terrifying to think of letting it go, and Goddess forbid, opening my heart again. Where would I be without this cloak ‘round me? Without this veil enclosing my heart? One shudders to think of it. And yet one shudders a great deal more to ponder the alternative.
Praying to expel this poison. Move past the betrayal. Get on with life and the living. Anger, held too long and too deeply, is for the dead.