Hi Everyone!
I hope this finds you well. I am finally finding the time to get back to my blog. It's been a very interesting summer and I am sure some of the stories will make it into future postings ;-).
You can expect some original postings in the next few days.
We are headed for another Uranus/Pluto square. (If you are not familiar with it, I recommend reading up on it on one of the wonderful astrological websites).
It's time to let go of things and relationships that no longer work. Last year, during a prior Uranus/Pluto square, I went through a huge grieving process while life as I knew it was being stripped away.
A loving fellow traveler recommended this poem to me by Ellen Bass. It helped a lot.
If you are not familiar with her, check out her work!
I hope this finds you well. I am finally finding the time to get back to my blog. It's been a very interesting summer and I am sure some of the stories will make it into future postings ;-).
You can expect some original postings in the next few days.
We are headed for another Uranus/Pluto square. (If you are not familiar with it, I recommend reading up on it on one of the wonderful astrological websites).
It's time to let go of things and relationships that no longer work. Last year, during a prior Uranus/Pluto square, I went through a huge grieving process while life as I knew it was being stripped away.
A loving fellow traveler recommended this poem to me by Ellen Bass. It helped a lot.
If you are not familiar with her, check out her work!
The Thing Is by Ellen Bass
The Thing Is
to love life, to love it even
when you have no stomach for it
and everything you’ve held dear
crumbles like burnt paper in your hands,
your throat filled with the silt of it.
When grief sits with you, its tropical heat
thickening the air, heavy as water
more fit for gills than lungs;
when grief weights you like your own flesh
only more of it, an obesity of grief,
you think, How can a body withstand this?
Then you hold life like a face
between your palms, a plain face,
no charming smile, no violet eyes,
and you say, yes, I will take you
I will love you, again.
when you have no stomach for it
and everything you’ve held dear
crumbles like burnt paper in your hands,
your throat filled with the silt of it.
When grief sits with you, its tropical heat
thickening the air, heavy as water
more fit for gills than lungs;
when grief weights you like your own flesh
only more of it, an obesity of grief,
you think, How can a body withstand this?
Then you hold life like a face
between your palms, a plain face,
no charming smile, no violet eyes,
and you say, yes, I will take you
I will love you, again.
