I lost the way back to the map of my hand. The end of the fabric was lost from where my mind had imagined it to be. The soft blanket was hard to discern – was it touching my receiving hand or was it not.
Can we trace the lines on our hands to memories we’ve forgotten or repressed? Can we call back our energy through gentle present touch while breathing, seeing, allowing, feeling. Does the receiving hand feel cared for? Does the tool hand feel left out or maybe self aggrandizing for being chosen as the giving hand.
They say that during menstruation the left and right brain are more interconnected and that now is a good time to reflect, rest and evaluate what is going on in your life. Well, I am learning not to push through – I can’t believe how many women today, myself included, push through. Yesterday I slept from 7am to 11am, then again from 1pm to about 6pm. I didn’t leave the house and didn’t leave the couch for almost 10 hours.
My body is draining. Releasing. Carving out. Untethering old wounds attached to patterns that keep me stuck, not able to achieve my next steps – wonting to step softly yet firmly on the unfrozen ground. Mud kicking up from puddles – washed with fresh rain. Sediment catching on raincoats – freckling yellows and blues.
Daffodils are sprouting – this is the season of bulbs. What am I releasing? What is being renewed? How can I learn to love this time? This pain. This fatigue. This weightiness.
She is doing the work. I have time. I have space. How can I support this heavy work?
I woke to heavy cramps and sore legs at 5am. I couldn’t leave the washroom – hot, then cold, nauseous, and pale.
where rivers are born 