Mystery


textile design on silk, 1987
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I have the oddest feeling a new life is waiting in the wings for me.

I have certainly had many, many incarnations lived out in just this present lifetime.

And so, it seems another is just around the bend.

There is not too much fear.. some, truth be told, but the pull toward this new thing, whatever it is wins out over trepidation.

In the transition I don’t trust myself in the world.

My fuse is short and my tolerance level low.

I was meandering through my favorite bookstore yesterday looking for solace and a gorgeous amazonian black
woman sat at a small table with a sign offering intuitive readings.

I seldom choose ‘in-store’ guidance givers but I was drawn to sit with her and after all was said and done I left with the knowledge I needn’t look anywhere other than the avenues I now depend on for way-showing.

Illness fosters drawing at straws when answers aren’t forthcoming.

And always, I am asked to return to home base..

Close my eyes and go inside and ask for what I need.

Have the where-with-all to tolerate the stillness it takes to STOP.

Weirdly, this is so challenging for me.. the curtailing of incessant ‘going out there’ for answers.

We all seem to be heading fast and furiously away from stillness what with all the bells and whistles in our techno-age.

Where is our tolerance for silence?

Our ability to sit soaking in the unknown trusting it’s innate intelligence?

Knowing that we don’t know and that has to be ok sometimes even if it makes us wiggle and squirm.

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