When I was a girl, the women in my life would check out with the bottle. One would drink for an entire weekend at a time. Another would start each afternoon with cocktail hour. Others drank here and there until incrementally, here and there became always.
It’s in my DNA, I suppose, this meeting of grief and anxiety and hopelessness and overwhelm, by turning away.
This may be why assisting a meditation program always gives rise to some measure of terror inside. And why, after pushing a few other envelopes of late, I’ve retracted. With sugar. And caffeine. With Netflix. And late nights.
The rocking of the seasons. Inside and out.
So let it be.
So, let it be.
So, let it, BE.
May I be rocked. May I be soothed. May I be courageous. May I be transformative.
May you BE too.
The Motherless Muse 