Stasis and Change

All of the energy swirling from our gathering of folk at our home Saturday evening is only now beginning to dissipate and to allow me to finally feel a little more calm and focused. Sunday's gardening literally grounded me, but I couldn't sleep well that night, and yesterday is almost a blur as I rather blindly bumped and stumbled around (picture yourself at night in the darkness walking in a strange room, your arms and hands before you, feeling, feeling the air to try to avoid the pain of contact with a wall or piece of furniture), taking out projects, doing a little on one and then finding myself working on yet another.

I'm attempting to pull together a few poems to send out (not because I really feel like it at this point, but because I promised myself I would) that must be postmarked by the 15th----only three days hence. However, instead of doing this, I stopped to read a few old journal entries (which I very rarely do----every ten years or so at most) from when I was in my early 20s, and realize that I haven't really changed that much. Should that make me happy? Sad?

Surprisingly, I feel good that our essential selves do not change, rather like we have an anchor after all----that we are not merely drifting aimlessly but we have purpose.

I think of other women whose blogs I've read (and linked to), women who are also seeking purpose yet finding themselves smack dab in the middle of it. . . finding clarity unexpectedly, yet with that odd sense of familiarity-----like coming back to ourselves----rather like these cows of Gary Larson: