I’m supposed to write about it but I haven’t a clue where to begin. Much has happened — both in my life and the world around me — and all of it is remarkably intertwined. I haven’t written regularly for a few weeks and I suspect it will take me months to unpack all that’s happened. Today though, strangely, I feel like chicken, yoga, fear, and love is where I need to begin.
Not writing is what I do when there is so much going on inside my world that I cannot grab ahold of any one thing long enough to share it. That’s where I’ve been lately, flailing around in an ocean of absolute chaos, fearful that if I stopped thrashing, I might drown in the heartache.
I write when I’m ready to feel, and lately, I couldn’t bear it. The chaos is a nice cover story and there’s been plenty of it, but the truth is that every time I think about writing the stories that need to be told, tears fill my eyes and pour down my cheeks — just as they are now — and I haven’t been ready to face them.
Every tear you never cried is waiting for you… and they are heavy.
That’s what I tell my clients when they are experiencing life in a way that resurrects all of the old, untended heartaches. They are supposed to allow the emotions to come and wash over them, like those huge black rocks I found living a few hundred feet out from the beach near Santa Monica pier.