{omens}
The magnolia tree is blooming1.
Still.
Still.
Still.
{the trapeze}
Days have come and gone.
Each with words written and deleted.
Trying to get it right.
Trying to piece together the happenings and unfoldings.
Of my being.
Once upon a time.
I imagined the emails I sent.
To be an invitation.
Into a den.
An underground lair.
Cozy and warm.
Where stories are cast and magic is made.
That vision gave me the space.
The permission.
To call people in.
Deep.
And deeply.
Sometimes I crave the expanse.
Where I feel as if I could stretch my arms out.
Forever.
And touch nothing.
Forever.
Other times.
I want small.
Burrows.
Hidey holes.
Where I am surrounded by treasures.
And can weave newness from notions and mysteries.
Often.
I want them both.
And more.
All at once.
This is all to say.
That even though this is the place from which I write.
Even though I have tried.
To make a space for me to share my adventures.
I find myself needing.
To carve a nook.
With even more presence.
Intention.
Because the biggest sense of my being is asking.
For the solidity that comes.
From allowing myself to be contained.
For a moment or so.
I will place myself here.
For that moment.
Or so.
Each week.
As a point of connection.
Of reflection.
Along with the other words.
That spill from me.
I am still.
Always.
In the discovery.
Still.
In the work that took form of the 40 days I offered myself2.
The call of my biggestness sings with a grand timber.
I let it lead me.
Still.
Bones.
Breath.
And being.
Visions rise and set.
Offering possibilities.
That don’t fade as the sun does.
In fact, they only become more solid with each moonrise.
The points of connection I once longed for.
Now spin above me like stars dangling from the heavens.
Offering me the chance to tie it all together.
I imagine myself to be on a trapeze.
Swinging from one bar to another.
And I know to move forward, I have to let go.
I know.
To stay in the inbetween forever is not viable.
It’s a choice in and of itself.
One that guarantees a fall.
One side is known.
A path tread long enough that I know what is expected of me.
I know how to manage.
Without having to stretch into the places that I am afraid to go.
The other side.
Asks more of me.
It’s immersive.
With a call of wild embrace.
There is no waffling.
Or hiding.
There is only room for a full and complete yes.
With that yes.
There is a no.
A no to what was.
A no to how it has been.
A no to desire lines already made.
The ones that are so easy to follow.
In the past.
When I have been here.
And I have been here before.
I have always listened to the voice of caution.
I have hedged my bets.
I have backed away.
And found ways to dangle for way too long.
There is a fear that is coursing through me.
More than one.
The fear of being seen.
The fear of being stuck.
The fear of falling.
Failing.
Flailing.
How lovely it would be to tell you that they don’t matter.
But they do.
They hold enough weight to make my breath shallow.
To make me want to run.
And.
The Siren’s Song persits.
For that.
I am.
Unendingly.
Grateful.
There is more.
Of course.
So much more.
But that will have to wait.
Until next week.
Daringly yours,
Jo Anna
For 40 days I sent out an email that detailed my experience in an exploration of myself, my work, my world. You can find that archived here:
https://myownmagic.substack.com/about