Here is the start of my January bead journal page. I begin with a very personal piece of myself, a looming ghost of a memory that exists from before I even had a vocabulary. This has been buried in my psyche all these years and living stubbornly nestled in my soul, annoyingly comfortable, a persistent shadow. It made sense several years ago at age 45 when my mother decided to tell me a story. A really tragic story. I cried for a week. It was like the missing puzzle piece snapped into place and I could finally see and make sense of the ethereal feelings I had been carrying with me all my life. I will share it later when (and even if) I finish. Who knows. It might be getting too heavy for my mood this winter... ...awww, it's not too much. It is bittersweet, and real, and it is mine. When I pay attention things reveal themselves.
This piece is about the legacy of sorrow my father left me, and how that sorrow has transformed into compassion.
I focus on this not at all in woe is me or self-pity or wallowing. I prefer to see it as awake, a humble visionary searching for... and finding... compassion... and not even searching but rather being, in my reality, in my story, my truth...
Speaking of awake, ha! I have been up for over 24 hours (15 hours at work) and I am so outta here. The hospital where I work has been washed away in a wonderfully hot shower and I am ready for bed in the middle of the day.
