Though I am an inveterate loner, I like to put together gatherings of people on occasion, and then flit around the edges on my tattered wings, land here and there next to different people, listen in, maybe say a word or two, withdraw, sit at their feet petting our dogs as others speak, cuddle up quietly next to someone for a moment, then remind myself I must move on. Others' energy is so palpable to me at times, my focus becomes that flitting and fleeting movement. Only with individuals, at a distance from others, can I feel myself separate, can I think more clearly. And even then, depending on the individual, I sometimes have difficulty.
What is this permeable self I inhabit?
I have to guard myself from feeling "less than" others when I am around those who so glibbly state their thoughts and arguments, as the best I can do at times is kiss my dog's ears and soothe my exposed nerves. No longer do I have the numbing effect of antidepressants to hold my self in, so I may fall into tears or laugh too loudly unexpectedly, or find words evading me like slippery fish.
And so today, it's back to Earth, hands in the dirt, into the garden, where instead I will visit with violets and occasionally hack at invasive ivy and non-native blackberries, happy for this balance, this give-and-take, this lovely reciprocity.
