This long vacation, Blue being on the other side of the world, Dad's death... time seems to have slipped into a forever feeling. Things are so strange right now, and I feel really ok in it, which adds to the strange.
I am working at breathing. Last week I was told that I don't breathe out deeply, or enough. There was a discussion of how people "fight, flight or freeze" in the face of trauma. All three have been useful in my story. Chapters of it are bubbling up, which I suppose is to be expected. So, I'm noticing how often my breath is held, and how old the air of it is. What I should or want to say here, I don't know. Truthful is always important to me, but so is useful, and safe.
And story.
Story has always held connections, possibilities and escape. Today squares were added to this slowly growing quilt. Looking at these patches- holding thoughts of friends, travels, and other makings... And there are places where imagination takes me away to the sea, moon gazing, snowy nights, space travel, and flying with bluebirds. I'm going to call this blanket-to-be "Story" now. Everything is.
Exhaling.........
