A week ago I decided to grant myself permission to write. Without apology, I dove headfirst into my words, coming up for air only for the most essential tasks: eating, spending meaningful time with family and friends, knitting, dancing inappropriately around the living room in my underwear.
There is so much I want to say here, but I need to save it all for the book. She (the book) has been beside me since the drawing of my first breath. Those who understand what it's like to have a primal dream living in their blood know this feeling. Carrying stories bound inside your bones, unbinding them and making the biggest mess ever of your life, and then opening your hands and giving it wings and praying the instinctual flight patterns take over.
Thank you. Thank you for honoring this time. Thank you for your notes of encouragement and love and sisterhood (and brotherhood). The solstice is almost here, and as I ruminate in these darkest of days, it is the power of your support that is keeping me rooted to my vulnerable and sacred and naked Truth. Thank you.