I think this is going to be "the year" after all. Why, I can't quite say, but inklings keep dawning upon me -- little quiet ones, still small voices, that whisper of the beauty of a coming metamorphosis.
Life seems broader somehow, as if, after months or years of staring at the ground just one step ahead of my feet, something nudged me to "lift up mine eyes" and see, at one and the same time, both the vast expanse of a horizon I'd forgotten or never knew, and chariots and horsemen bordering the approaching hills in flame. And the sky -- such a huge, still sky, like the huge, still plains and the huge, still hills. It all makes my eyes hurt, but the kind of hurt that makes it worthwhile to keep looking. Like turning on a lamp after reading in the dusk.
I've been carrying with me certain, not quite regrets, but wistfulnesses -- courses of action I wished could have ended differently, roads I could not take but wished I could, choices I had to make but didn't want to, memories I've returned to in loneliness that made me long for some of the things I used to have but couldn't keep. This morning I savored the wistfulness, spent a little time in sadness, until just a little bit ago I looked up again and realized that I've outgrown it. That I'm not the same person who fit with the once-had-beens; that I've grown and changed a little bit from who I was, so that what I longed for wouldn't fit me anymore. I opened up the wistfulness that I've kept wrapped carefully in my knapsack and discovered dust where I remembered pressing buttercups (Nature's first green is gold...). And while the land is still in winter, underneath the earth other things are remembering that it's almost time to live.
It's all so strange and different that I'm not even bothered about cliches. I'm more preoccupied with the newness of feeling alive, with knowing that I'm a part of a brilliantly immeasurable world, and that there is room in it for me to grow as expansive as I can. There's room.
How did the dry bones feel when they began to rattle together in reconfiguration, called by a Son of Man to transform? I wonder if they felt a little bit like this.
5 comments:
Love this post. I am longing for that new feeling myself...
Sarah. My goodness, girl, you are a writer. I LOVE this. I have it saved on my computer. And I absolutely relate.
Beautifully written....
I can relate to these feelings... this is going to be my year too. I can feel it.
One day some editor is going to read your words and steal you away from the lawyers you know.
Hahaha, well, I do feel the stirrings of destiny in my writing bones, you know! ;) Thanks for your kind words. I do love my job here, so for the time being I'm attempting to balance the craft with the job and do them both in tandem. But I've always known that writing was "it." I just need to get my act together and start sending stuff out.
This is such a beautiful, inspiring post.
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