A Meeting of ... Minds?

"We must walk consciously only part way toward our goal and then leap in the dark to our success." – Henry David Thoreau

There are moments that happen when you can see the action taking place just as it is happening. It happens sometimes in accidents where you see everything that is happening and it is happening in slow motion. It isn't just bad things that you can see happening, but good things as well. I had one of those moments this past Saturday.

Saturdays are fast becoming my favorite day of the week (other than Sunday, of course) because of tai chi and then roaming Downtown Georgetown and ending up going to A Stone's Throw for my weekly fix of yarn and yarn related goods.

This past Saturday was very unique because the events slowed, and people slowed, and life moved at its normal pace, but I could see a difference. Just Bill was there for tai chi and, as always, it was enlightening and the faces of the class members were familiar and friendly. The summer heat beat down on us as we went through our movements and were corrected and I felt so very much a part of everything.

I don't just mean class this time. Instead, I felt a part of everything, of life itself. It rolled over me, through me, and I was quite aware of how much I have changed in the span of the past few weeks. I have changed inside, and it is beginning to show outside.

Isn't it disturbing sometimes how the internal changes are always difficult to explain? Teenagers can't explain it, so they rely on music; adults can't explain adulthood, so they explain it in many confusing ways; and the older ones, grandfathers, grandmothers, great-greats we may be fortunate in our lives to still have close to us -- they explain things simply. However, I am not "old" so I don't comprehend completely the simplicity of everything, nor am I so far beyond being a grown woman I can escape the complicated explanations, or so it feels. Then again, I am also not so "adult" I still don't try to reach for music to explain what is going on in my head and heart, inside myself.

This Saturday I felt it all. The heat, the movements, the people around me, the peace inside me, as well as the subtle changes that have occurred. It was all separate -- each event separate -- and connected, because it was all connected to me, in me. I felt how my horizons were suddenly expanded and realized just how much I had closed off from everything. Pain can do that to you, make you close and curl up inside yourself to heal, and the emotional pain of loss can especially do that to you.

I haven't unfurled and uncurled yet completely either. I was exceptionally aware of that as well. This is going to have to happen slowly. The more I feel safe and secure and loved, the more I am going to open. Hubby is doing his part. So are my darling sisters, and my friends absolutely just can't be beat! And they aren't pushing either, they are there to care for this blossoming, blooming person I realize I am becoming. Confidence is taking root and tearing out arrogance; and ideas, like leaping branches are slowly beginning to reach for the sky.

It is going to be interesting to see how that other person who was me finally ends up. I am still somewhat frightened and uncertain of the future, but not to the point now where I can't reach out and feel life again. Mostly I believe it is nervousness. "Prom excitement" is how my friend Future-Nurse describes it. It is quite accurate, at least as far as the feelings are concerned.

For myself it feels as if I am slowly breaking out of a husk, like a seed beginning to finally sprout and live again after being dormant for so very long, healing and regaining the strength I needed in order to live again. Does a seedling feel the beat of the earth as well as its own heart? Does a butterfly? Is this how a caterpillar feels once it finally begins breaking free of its chrysalis? Is this why a butterfly sits outside of its cocoon for a little while experimenting with its wings and its antennae and tongue? Is this how a caterpillar could possibly feel realizing, perhaps oh so very slowly, it is no longer a caterpillar but a beautiful, wind-soaring butterfly?