A lot has happened since May, when last my words tread their path across this digital stage. For the past eight summers I’ve been badly busy, trapped in a raging maelstrom of grandiose proportions, but that’s over now and I get to look forward to a quiet, less chaotic, contemplative time.
I’ve missed this. I needed it more than I realized.
How do you gather the cloak of your true self around you and pay attention to its folds if the constant toiling exhaustion from a stress-centered life leaves you hobbled? The answer is, you don’t. The cloak wears and wears and before you know it, your self is composed of shredded strings holding the holes together.
Right now, my cloak feels like the torn up pieces of a tattered flag after it’s been left in a powerful wind and bleaching sun for near a decade. But I see that now. No longer a cloak of invisibility, it’s been carried into a warm, safe place, and is being assessed for repairs.
The wheel turns, the seasons change, and again I find myself the weaver of patches for a cloak that has seen better days. It survived though–by thread and seam and force of will–it survived. And from the ragged shell, I’m confident a vibrantly mended cloak will emerge.
I’ve been gently gathering the threads that still hold strong and am using them as a framework to make the cloth whole again. All that’s left is figuring out the colors and designs of the patches. That’s a task I’m looking forward to.