When the time is right

The time will be yours

The Library of Wonders and Curiosities sits on the threshold of my yard and the rest of the world. It rests where a gate once stood. Towered over by a camellia bush, who will, soon enough, begin to flower. The petals of pink will shine over the Library. Offering beauty. Bestowing magic.

I love a late bloomer. How she makes herself known, in her own time. In her own way.
We are kindred, the camellia and I.
I have always taken my own time. My own path.
If I step away from myself, I do appear to be blooming later than many.
And yet.
When I stay right here, I see that my magic has always flowed.
And now is the time that it is…which is exactly as I need it to be.

The Library arrived on my 44th birthday…almost 2 years ago.
And with it, a doorway.
A portal.
A passage into The Evers.
With it, a desire.
And a responsibility.
To share the treasures.
The wonders and curiosities, if you will, that rise from the Mystery.
With its installation, I felt a new world blooming under my fingertips.
An aliveness I feel now.
Still.

*****

The last time I wrote, before my time away, I said that emails would arrive in my absence.
They did not.
I tried to write.
But there was nothing I wanted to say.
I ached for rest and renewal.
I wanted to submerge myself in the deep.
And not rise again until I had to.

I could have found words and made them dance.
Offering a reasonable facsimile of myself.
But that would just not do.
I wanted to remember the world that was blooming.
I wanted the aliveness.
I wanted the magic.

For days I quested into stillness.
Into myself.
Into a winding labyrinth of what is possible.
And slowlyslowlyslowly.
I began to remember.

*****

Some nights ago, a storm came.
With wild lightning and rumbling thunder.
I reveled in it all.
The street light and the camellia bush have been known to cast shadows on the curtains of my bedroom.
I watched the light and dark spin with the winds.
There was a creaking from outside.
I peaked out but nothing was to be seen.

In the morning.
On my porch.
Was a small box, sitting just under the eaves, so as to escape the rain.

Upon the top of the box was a note, asking to be read first.

Soon the night will give you its darkness.
The moon will fold inward.
And you.
In the newness.
Will open this box.
Until then.
Consider the words below.
To be an invocation.
Of what is to come.

{for when the time is right}

You can.
Rush past yourself.
Into the unfolding.
Trying to find the map.
The answer.
The key.
That you think should have been bestowed upon you.
In a time before now.

But if you do.
You will only discover.
That you have lost.
What you sought.
To the fears.
That you are too much.
For the wilderness to hold you in its branches.
Or not enough.
For the mystery.
To sing you its songs.

Instead.
Instead.
Instead.
Know.
That the doorways and thresholds and secret passages.
Open as they do.
The world spins for so much more.
Than you can ever know.
When the time is right.
The time will be yours.

*****

And that is what we have.
An invocation.
To be read.
And felt.

A box.
To be opened.
On the new moon.

And curiosities and wonders waiting to be discovered.
Which they will be…very soon.

With love and fire~
Jo Anna