The First Step

a blessing

Tus maith leath na hoibre. A good beginning is half the work.

~Irish proverb

Photo by Eilis Garvey on Unsplash

Purposeful as a slow-drawn breath, I donned my new bikini and my big waterproof boots and walked out into the rain.

I bless the night that nourished my heart
To set the ghosts of longing free
Into the flow and figure of dream
That went to harvest from the dark
Bread for the hunger no one sees. 

The sky is heavy and the air warm and gently wet, a feminine rain that beads on my skin more than it rolls down my body. I spread my arms wide as wings in the wind, a wishful impulse.

All that is eternal in me
Welcomes the wonder of this day, 
The field of brightness it creates
Offering time for each thing
To arise and illuminate. 

Heavier drops fall with the rustling of the leaves and needles of the trees. I brush my hands through their lacy, outstretched branches; hello, hello.

I place on the altar of dawn:
The quiet loyalty of breath,
The tent of thought where I shelter,
Waves of desire I am shore to
And all beauty drawn to the eye. 

I have left my glasses inside because wearing them in the rain always feels like an exercise in futility. Alone in a world already softened and slightly fuzzy from the weather, I lift my bare face to the clouds. That scene in Raya and the Last Dragon when Sisu takes to the air for the first time? That is my spirit today, spiraling into the sky and plunging back to earth, an aquamarine blur of power and grace. I could live forever in this space between.

May my mind come alive today
To the invisible geography
That invites me to new frontiers,
To break the dead shell of yesterdays,
To risk being disturbed and changed. 

The tent of my mind is crowded as always. There is so much I wish to say and haven’t yet, not the way I want to say it or to the person I want to hear me. All of my favorite fantasies are about me speaking my power and being heard; usually, by men. It is no accident, the beast that was chosen as metaphor in When Women Were Dragons. I wonder, as I round the smaller maple tree at the top of the slope, easy in my body the way that I only am alone and outside, if every woman has this fantasy at some point in their lives. I dream of being large enough to not be ignored, condescended to, reprimanded, mansplained to; oh look! The walking vagina believes she can think! Over and over again I replay those times, and I envision myself Dragoning. I wonder what it would feel like to actually do it, to transform right there before God…and myself…and everybody. I wonder. Can I be brave enough to live my truth aloud? Where could I possibly begin?

May I have the courage today
To live the life that I would love,
To postpone my dream no longer
But do at last what I came here for
And waste my heart on fear no more. 

(excerpts from: "A Morning Offering" by John O'Donohue)

My dream…that which I came here for. Is it disloyal to admit that, more than I ever wanted to be a mother, it is a book that I have desired—the longest and most keenly—to birth? Does that make me a bad mother? Is it guilt or fear that has made me hesitate all these years; I’m too busy now, with the kids and all. I want to be with them while they’re young. My writing will keep for now. It’s true, I love being a mom, I love homeschooling (mostly), I love the freedom to sprawl on the couch with a cup of coffee each (decaf for the girls) and read chapter after chapter of Harry Potter on a lazy, wet afternoon. I love the freedom of setting my own schedule, of not having to push myself harder than I choose to (most of the time), of spending my days in the company of the coolest humans I know. And yet…the longing has been growing in me all year. I have decided to want more, and I know what I want.