a brief heartstorm
I have been quite hither and yon lately. One minute weighed down by the ugliness of the world, and the next, striving or gearing up for something, although quite honestly I don’t always know what. I’ve been having wild dreams, afternoon energy crashes, unexpected spurts of momentum, wishes sprouting from paralysis. I’ve been preparing for storms, both literal and figurative ones, filing taxes, and treasuring the stillness of the in-between moments with gratitude for everything I have. I’ve been being poked with needles in the form of peptide therapy, acupuncture, and bloodwork. I’ve been breaking my own rules around writing weekly Substacks. I’ve been pretending to be on an episode of House Hunters every time we tour another home for rent in hopes of finding some place worth settling into for a while, and grieving the pieces of myself that get left behind in those that may feel like home but are just not quite right. Like the last one that I swear smelled like Vermont. Part childhood. Part woodstove. Part hippy sweat. Part tobacco my father used to smoke in his pipe. Part homemade bread right out of the oven.
Life feels a bit like a teeter-totter. SO much is happening. Both meteorites and bombs are falling from the sky, depending on where you are. Canada geese are dying from the bird flu. The climate is chaotic and confusing as our dear planet tries to teach us a few lessons and threatens to boot us all off her surface. The dooms-dayers are peeking out of their caves in between their bulk shopping trips and proposing we all buy guns. It’s getting far too easy to be snatched up by fear. To be whittled down to worry. To stop dreaming and settle for surviving.
But Friday is the Spring Equinox. A brief balance before darkness begins to be overtaken by light. A new beginning overflowing with growth opportunities. The birth of creative impulses that have been invisible for a while. Bluebirds staking claim on the birdhouse in the back yard. Cherry blossoms fighting against (hopefully) the last of the cold spells. Luna moths beckoning for their cocoons to be taken out of cold storage in the crisper drawer of my fridge so that they can complete their metamorphosis and fly.
Friday is also when Mercury once again becomes direct after being in retrograde. Not that I really know what that means exactly, but it must mean something. Something good, hopefully.
No matter how you look at it, it’s change. All around. The kind that we aren’t in control of. The kind that takes us by surprise, even if we’re expecting it. The kind that reminds us of what it means to hope and urges us to trust.
Let’s remember.