low tide

I have developed a special love for walking the tidal flats of Spanish Banks at low tide. There's something about how profoundly the landscape changes, and how the ebb and flow of the tide is simultaneously powerful and gentle. And I love the space that opens up, the vast expanse of smooth, gently ridged flatlands-- there for the walking. It's great thinking space, great breathing space.

Still, the weight in my soul is so great that even in the expanse of the tidal flats today I could not take a deep breath. I haven't been able to take a deep breath for weeks. It's been one of the most tortured months in recent memory. While I have had some moments when I feel like myself, mostly I feel like I'm made of chalk and styrofoam. And my chalk bones ache as I push and push against the veil of tears that threatens to smother me.

And yet.

And yet, in the walking and talking on the tidal flats today-- with the help and inspiration of friend and mentor, K-- I caught a glimpse of release from this prison. In the walking and the talking, in the midst of the mud and the running tide, I floundered and flailed my way into something that feels like a great insight. It's something I have only the slimmest hold on right now. I feel like my fingers have brushed the silver thread of a promising light but I haven't got a good enough grasp of the thread to pull myself closer to the light. Yet. I think I know what direction I have to reach in. It's about expectation. And grace.

I hope I can say more about this in the coming days. I thought it best to write down, to let it be known (if only to myself on future reference) that, at least, I caught a glimpse of liberty today. Maybe tomorrow I can breathe again. Or soon, anyway.