on March 20, 2014

Hibernation mode – that’s where I am now.  The weather agrees with me, grey days of low light and water falling in big drops.  It takes a great deal of effort just to stir, to move myself out of the house.  Inside, it’s warm and cozy.  I can find plenty to occupy my hands, mind and time.  I move through the days lazily with brief interludes devoted to activities that connect me to the outside world., some online work, the dreaded taxes, or having a telephone conversation with a dear one.

My soul hungers for conversation, laughter, or just quiet company of another.  I eagerly await my husband’s return from work to hear about his day, to share some moments together.  However, once I’ve entered into that space occupied by someone else, I’m ready to run and hide away in my books, my writing, or other solitary retreats. 

Hibernation feels like an alternative reality – fuzzy, comfortable, timeless, and endless.  Yet I know that it is a temporary condition.    My mind stretches a bit, a long, twisty, languid, cat-like stretch into impossible positions to grab an idea of what’s next.  Then suddenly, it moves away, slippery as an eel. 

I just want to spend my time in the spot.  You know, the one, where words flow like a waterfall or even a slow moving stream.  The place where the pen glides easily and without stopping over the paper.  Where all of the right words pour forth and are committed by ink.  The sensation of being in alignment with your source and all is right.

Something occurs, a cramp in your hand, the mail dropping in the slot, the phone buzzing with another text message and the moment is lost.  Once jarred back into this space we call everyday life, perspectives shift as if a cloud covered the sun.  We are left yearning yet again.


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