Monday, December 31, 2012

Don't Look Back

Last New Year's Eve is a specter quietly haunting me. There was this excited and sweet optimism that the pain and worry of 2011 was so soon to be behind me. Yesterday I felt a jolt of trepidation when Shane told me that 2013 is going to be my year. I remembered feeling that before- being so hopeful in the beginning of 2012 that my pain would be over, and then being so disappointed when winter faded into spring and my healing stood still.

This year I went through so many unsuccessful (and painful) attempts to get my body well, and then in the last few days of the calendar year, we finally got the implant working. Today was far more comfortable than this weekend, and it seems that it's going to help me so much.

I'm looking ahead into a new year, but trying to leave expectations and hopes loose and open, to just let it come.

I've had a hard time writing and drawing for a couple of months. I've been withdrawn and deeply depressed and the pain was really intense. It's a strange time right now- living in a body that's a mystery. I have no idea where my physical abilities will expand and how much my legs and back will strengthen as I heal. Of course I'm guessing (careful leg presses? swimming?) and dreaming (roller skating with my daughter? hiking? tantric sex?) but I'm hesitant. I don't know what I want from this year, or what it will bring.

The old mystic in me is happy with the number thirteen. We move from twelve, which means order and solar time, to the odd prime 13. A lunar number, thirteen full moons in a year. An unknown. And stepping into the unknown is so powerful.

I envision and invite change. It's been a long stillness for me, and I'm ready to move. Slowly and carefully I'll


I wish for you that the year newborn in winter brings healing, growth, and wonder. That the unknown unfolds for us and finds we are open to its mysteries. I wish for you as we greet the last months of cold and dark that you seek and find warm hearth fires and bright stars to keep light burning. I wish for you thirteen moons of learning and laughter and growing.

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