Imbolc and the Waiting to Cross Moon
Sunday afternoon gratefuls: Jen. The Ancient Brothers on Soul. Driving down the hill and back up again. Jon’s mess. Get a will! Cod for dinner with Collard Greens.
Wanted to reach back to the post where I wondered about feeling depressed. I don’t.
Considered a 30 minute writing session. Did it. Got somewhere. Need to build a routine. I can do that. Also, after reading the Vanity Fair article, I no longer find my CJ Fox jones too light a reading load. He’s writing right into these waves of change happening in our least populated state. If you want to know the zeitgeist as a whole in Wyoming, read Box.
I’m still struggling with the need to be useful as opposed to the need to just quietly become who I am becoming. That’s the frisson. And, it’s a healthy one. I don’t want to leave anything on the table, yet I know I’ve already done as much work as I need to. What things bring me joy? Lift me up? That’s what I’m hunting for now.
So, please disregard any mentions of depression. Tune into the first F1 race of the season this Friday in Bahrain. Dance a jig. Talk to your Black granddaughter in Atlanta. Watch Findlay hunt deer. Be soulful with your 16 inches of Winter.
Amen.
