Buckhorn inn, cottage 3

This place is like an answer to prayer. When we stepped out of the car in the driveway to the quiet, to the view, to the absence of neighboring buildings and lights, I felt my body sigh. One more step away from the anxiety and pain that have been these last weeks.

The release began this morning, when the car entered the national parklands. We drove for many miles along the rushing Little River. Churning, rolling, and spilling over its banks, I felt somehow as if it were cleansing me, the force of the water seeking out and finding every remnant of the toxins I have been ingesting lately. It is not surprising at all, I suppose, that several hours later my own bowels were gushing their contents like an opened faucet.

Weeks, months, years of contempt emptying out, flowing away. How long might it take for my cells to release it all? How long until I am brand new, my cells made up of only the goodness that I feed them?

This morning, I woke with the remembrances of yesterday’s madness-the swearing and name-calling, the negativity and fear, the spitting upon me of contempt. I wonder what it is about me that makes me such a target for another’s scorn…..

OH! I wonder if this is the place where I might don that blue dress! It certainly feels like the place from my dream…the same sense of remoteness, of deep woods, of other-timeness. What might I be invited to put on in this place after I strip and detox from my system all of the other-defined labels? Perhaps this is the place of stripping, of letting go, of losing.

Oh my, I just remembered that part of the dream. Of course! The waters rushing, the torrent… as we drove along that swollen river, the need so potent to open the window of the car to the sound, so that I could breathe it in almost…

Last night, I also recalled the dream of the phosphorescent blue eggs lying at the bottom of the sea, my voice waiting in the depths to hatch, so many words, perhaps, incubating…

I want this to be a time of starting fresh.  I heard a young woman say that about herself last night too. I pray that it is for my daughter, as well, that she can find her voice, trust herself, live with integrity to who she is.

There is a labyrinth here. I hope to walk it each day, to continue the process of letting go and of moving forward, of shedding old skin and finding the freshness of who I am beneath it. But for tonight, I am tired. …


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  1. Trackback: the midwifery « Emmaatlast’s Weblog

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