I have always liked speed. Fast cars, airplanes, boats, bike rides... you name it, and if it makes the air whistle in your ears and tousles your hair, I like it. And I've never been very patient with anything slow.
And now I find that even this sea-change is not and cannot be the whirlwind (I love the sound of this word :) experience I thought it should or could be.
And now I find that even this sea-change is not and cannot be the whirlwind (I love the sound of this word :) experience I thought it should or could be.
Somebody has likened having your heart broken to open-heart surgery, and as our brains seem to process emotional pain in the same place as physical pain, it is no wonder that these past 3 years I have often felt like a convalescent surgery-patient. The recovery process simply takes a lot more time and is way more profound than I had thought. Many times I've asked like kids in the back-seat of the car, "Are we there yet?" and made almost exactly the same sound of "mgmgngngnnaafhmpf" when I've realized the answer is no.
So, slowly, I've learned to give myself the permission to take the time I need to heal and not to be embarrassed about it.
And I'm learning to be patient with the slow thing that is called me and my no-longer-bleeding-but-still-at-times-aching heart.
The most amazing thing seems to happen as a consequence: as I let go of the expectations I have on myself, and stop peeling the scab off the wounds of my heart (you know the way we did as kids? I still have scars to show that that really doesn't help the healing to be quicker at all), the miraculous takes place... left alone in the silent velvety darkness of my heart, the seeds of joy, life, peace and laughter hidden in my heart have had the space to grow, and all of a sudden I find that I'm truly alive again, and that the night is passing...
and so time picks up speed again... :)
Aslan has roared and Spring is on its way!
