all that I can be.

In the silence and serenity of the darker hours, my mind begins to wander.

These are the times I love, when I lay in bed, Ruby resting her head on my feet, giving up that slight bit of comfort for me so that she can feel at home, loved, wanted. Cared for.

I know how deep that need sometimes goes far too well.

I realize that it has been too long since I have talked to my mother and resolve to call her tomorrow. Today. As far as I’m concerned, one day doesn’t end and the next begin until I fall asleep and wake up, regardless of the hour, and hours, time, means nothing to me save for the reason of occasionally needing to be some places at some times, or needing to pay certain bills before they get cut off.

I digress.

It’s been too long since I’ve talked to my mother, and yes, time is important here – if not for me, then for her perhaps, and… and we have made tentative plans to meet for the first time at the end of this month. Somehow.

 

Somehow something needs to change. The life I lived until I went into the hospitals being expected to die was something to live for, someone I was happy to be, someone I liked telling other people about – if it came up. My past is nothing less than extraordinary, lived with passion and intent, full of the deepest love and grace – but coming so close to dying – twice – seems to have done something to me. I know what I’ve seen. I know what I’ve done; Created, Destroyed, and Everything In Between… but so often these days I feel that the sails are empty. The breath blows all around me yet I sit here in a silent Sea waiting to be filled.

Something isn’t right. Something isn’t right and I need to fix it.

But… what?

I need work. I need to create. I need to get frustrated, I need to get angry, I need to be unsettled. I love, I desire, I hope yet it feels as if I’m in a dream…

And this is a time of change.

I miss the desperate life in my motorhome, I miss working the streets. I miss the words I am trying to find again, I miss being a fucking amazing force, if only for myself.

 

What will I tell my Mother when I meet her? I would much rather tell her who I have been, than who I am now – someone who just barely survives.

At least I know that there is someone in my life who is able to see what I can be again; an extraordinary woman, who believes in me…

I just need to be all that I can be – so I can be so much more for her.