Fertile and Fecund
This week I have dreamed, prayed, and danced. I have given blessings and I have been deeply, blessed. I have shouted fuck, shit and damn and fucking shit goddamn. I have led circles of women writing around workshop tables, living rooms and church basements. I have watched them write their hearts into bloody heaps on the table and then word by word, stitch their hearts back in.
This week I have gone to the grocery store no less than one thousand times for just one more thing. I have gone to meetings and therapy. I have gone on walks alone and walk & talks with life-saving friends. I have wrecked my house through the sheer mess of living, cleaned it, and wrecked it again. I have hated my husband with all the fury of hell and loved him fiercely back in again.
This week I have met about presses and podcasts. I've planned and schemed and daydreamed and made art around a table with friends. I have lounged in bed sucked deep into the pages of a fantasy novel. I have devoured heroines and villains like old friends.
This week our cat has slaughtered both a bunny and a bird, leaving them as bloody sacrifices beside my bed. I have wept and I have laughed and laughed and laughed until I thought the world could at last happily end. I have felt deep, overwhelming love for each of my parents and missed with a terrible ache old and lost friends. Thunder and rain and wind have blown the winter out like a beautiful but bitter friend.
This week I have felt crazy and I have felt calm, perfect order and chaos. I have felt the world I've been searching for all my life erupt through the surface of the earth fertile and fecund, contained within.