When I am very still inside, I begin to feel the shape of my future. It is asking something of me. I must get very quiet to hear the question.
I can feel the leaving behind of the old ways, the letting go of worry and reading minds. Easing of guilt and rooting into joy. I feel an unfolding of my home like roses unfolding from their buds. My child growing inside me, being born and long days nursing, watching the hawks hunting from my back porch. I feel the hum of the road under me, the vision of lazy summer days in places I’ve never seen before. I feel the constant return to what is true for me: family, home, writing, love, connection. I feel the remembering in my bones of sovereignty and stillness, sacred waters softening my skin, sisterhood and laughter and living big and loud, no apologies.
I see steaming pots of broth and quiet mornings, rowdy Sunday picnics and mud tracks through my kitchen. Lavender blooming, rabbits munching on tender greens in the garden, shooing them away with a broom. The scent of sacred incense infused in the very walls, the hint of magic in every doorway and nook.
I feel a peace when I help others, but keep a fierce loyalty to my own boundaries. I allow myself to lead, and I allow myself to rest. I read in bed with my children and teach them the ways of magic. I am present here, as I age, as I deepen into myself. I do not miss the past. I do not regret. I do not compare.
I watch the moon rise and pull her down into me. I gather with my sisters around the fire, and we hold space for each other in our tears, our anger, our softness, our bliss. I grow things and make things and weave things and burn things. I watch the sun set over snowy mountains. I feel sexier than ever before.
I take my partner’s hand in my own and feel the warmth of years and years of good night kisses and long talks over whiskey on ice and decorating Christmas trees and sharing furtive glances of pride when our children show kindness to others, it spreads in my hand and travels to my heart, and back through to my lover’s heart.
I feel strength in my body and the breath of the land, the protection of the knotty junipers surrounding our home, the soft hoot of a great horned owl and wild cackles of the coyotes, the gentle creak and sway of a porch swing. I feel grateful. I feel great. I feel full.
