“It makes no difference whether we are here or in the other realm. Our real home is within each of us and follows us wherever we go.” (Anita Moorjani)
It is the last day of the month. And I did not go for tea.
The appliance repair person visited. Allayed concerns. Shared knowledge.
The technology trouble shooter visited. A bearded man shook his head, but I can print now. And I laid out poetry books that left as joyous photos for future purchase.
I fed myself well. Exercised. Lit candles and sat still. And I wept. Wept at the news of another crossing. His youth divided by four.
The other day I glanced at our photo on the fridge. “That’s not me anymore,” he said. I replied, “I know.” Twenty four hours later the photo flew to the floor as I closed a cupboard door. Point taken. You are not.
I slipped the photo in between random cards in a basket.
The sweater is just a sweater. The coffee shop is a place I have been many times, with many people. And today it is three years but I will not weep for that.
He is beaconing himself home. Letting this earthly chaos be. Watching bonds form and break. Break and form.
And I am not that woman anymore. Either.
“I’m worthy of love and belonging and joy.” (Brene Brown)