My book, in-her-rest-less-ness: poems & prose, was finished, but I couldn’t quite say it was “finished-finished.” Now I know why.
There was no chapter, a final chapter, on healing.
And so I’m going to the desert to finish the book. I’m going to heal. And I will be back. I’m going to the desert to break my heart, mind, spirit, and put it back together again with the sinews of a tenacious love and the will to complete what I’ve begun here.
Anyone who knows me knows I take my research very seriously.
I’ve never much cared for the desert. Not really. But I love blood moons.
So here’s to writing in blood; to letting go of what no longer serves us; to enfolding what we are, what remains, within the circle of new perception. Here’s to saying “I don’t know” with conviction, and “I will learn” with intention.
I’ll be back when the desert flowers alive, when the snow-melt reconnects the sunlight to the earth, and when my own light reconnects to the light of you–all of you–within, and without, my world.
When the final chapter of the book gives more than a commiseration–more than brothers and sisters in pain. My hope is to give the light of hope to the hopeless, or at the very least, a break from the carnage and a way–any way at all–to redeem the bloody mess of it.
Je te vois