Sickness of Spirit. Flu of Heart. Fever of Solitude. I need to fiercely protect her.
I’m in a space that feels rather low and just not-quite-right. I don’t feel well. And yes, I’ll-be-okay. I’m not fighting it as much as usual. I’m not telling myself, ‘snap-out-of-it’ or it’s wrong to be feeling on the flipside of the moon and resting in the Everglades of a Cypress tree.
I’ll linger here because my bones hurt and my joints ache and my feet the ‘soul’ of my sentient being, have sharp-shooting pains.
“It’s okay,” I tell myself and I’ll take a few deeper breaths into feelings between the crevice of remembering and climb onto a rocky sunspot of solace and curl into the blankets of quiet shade.
I am a creature of solitude with a wicked habit of loving people.
I prefer the tarnished in the silver and relish the pools of low tide; I gravitate to those teeming with life and love as well as those with puddles of sorrow, angst and fears.
And yet above all, I savor solitude. I need to protect it fiercely.
I’m not okay and it’s super okay. It doesn’t need a remedy or a quick fix or a perky word of ‘cheer-up, it could be worse!’ I know it can and I know many suffer much more deeply. I believe we all have days or nights and months and years, where there are more curves in the road than a linear highway of optimism.
So for now, I need to take a break under a Magnolia and rest by the trunk of a River Birch and dip my toes into the Willow of Nothingness. I’ll be okay – because I am strong and kind and believe that the tears I cry connect me to the sea. I need to listen to the waves and rest on my sails of quiet, safe and free.