I am writing this from my little phone, which isn’t nearly as satisfying as I want it to be, but that’s okay.
I am also writing from Mississippi, as I’ve been here for about a week now, soaking in the love and grace of this place.
I guess love and grace have been what this year has taught me. For one, my departure from a life that is now so unfamiliar. From a person who I thought I knew, into a world I was not ready to be a part of.
People change. As do places and time. I don’t know why I expect things to change so much. Especially when you visit a place that was home for so long. They somehow become shells of their former stature. I suppose we all go through this in our growing process. We outgrow. We move. We change.
We bid our farewells to the year’s troubles. We give thanks for the good and the bad, as old friends who come and go from time to time.
“Ah, you’re here again…” I will say.
And I will lay down and cry or dance when nobody is around.
Love will come up like an ancient well and quench your thirst.
Sadness will also be there at times, to remind us of the great weight we hold as humans.
Let it be known that I embrace both. And that writing about both sadness and joy allows me to reach deep into the earth and grab hold.
Because people will change. And certainly the places we live will one day be taken over by the unfamiliar.
Like kudzu on a Georgia highway, covering the things men and women worked so hard to build strong.
We will keep going.
Fumbling with what to say.
Burning myself on ovens.
Questioning the divine
And embracing the great sadness this year has brought.
I will rise up.
Stick my hands deep in the earth,
and breathe in that sweet Mother love.