Yesterday Molly and Ada watched as I moved all the plants out of the house and onto the sun porch. First they sat on two sides of the sofa, then they moved to the porch far enough away so as not to be disturbed by the activity. They sat still and silent as cats do, like small statues. And yet their peace and wisdom accompanied me as I huffed and puffed, pulled and pushed, heaved and ho'ed. As the evening descended we sat all three amongst the plants looking out at the trees, watching the goldfinches shining brilliantly in the dwindling sunshine. I sipped on a glass of wine and I think I actually felt real, pure contentment. Am not quite sure what that feels like but I think this must have been it. My breathing was deep and comforting, brow smooth, eyes softened and heart full of, well, yes, peace.
I like how you describe the difference between writing from the heart and not the ego. Recently I was looking at my "stats" and realized that in the grand scheme of things I have very few readers compared to those bloggers with hundreds of "hits" a day. I have always been plagued by a sense of having to be great or famous or something - matching up to one of my family's dramatic styles of being in awe of greatness.
Recently I realized that I don't have that need hardly as much as I used to. Letting go of the "ego" is so liberating. The more I allow myself to cut the emotional, umbilical chord, break old bonds, paradigms and thought patterns, the more I am able to let go of my strict, screaming, blaming, high achieving, perfectionist, guilt-ridden, self-loathing ego.
Am slowly but surely learning to live from the heart and to breathe deeply. There are actually moments of pure peace.
Being so alone this past year, armed with all that Bob had given me I faced down those inner demons time and again, over and over, and reached into those intimate places of my soul that were terrifying and excruciatingly painful. Each time I survived, becoming stronger, and finding compassion and forgiveness to greet me at the other side.
But, something is finally shifting inside me. I can feel it. It has something to do with taking a stand for myself. Gentle, compassionate actions rather than agitated and aggressive. Making careful and responsible choices about future work and life partnering. It is all coming together. After all these years, I am allowing myself to visit the birth place of my old father. Gathering pieces of myself I look fondly on all the life lessons I have received from my older siblings: how to be fit and healthy, manage life's crises, experience joy and laughter, or the importance of fighting for universal rights ... the list is endless.
Now, perhaps I can get at the matter at hand. The book!
Okay, Liz. Reservations coming right up! ... ahem ... soon ...