dreamy moments… spent at summer and kainoa’s jungle cabin. the river. laughter. love.
“Last night I danced.
For the first time in 5 months.
In a dark room.
And it hurt.
Not so much that I was made nervous.
…or that I vomited.
Enough hurt though to know that I am slowly coming back into myself.
I certainly haven’t historically considered myself a “dancer.” Now, in the wake of day after day of bedrest turning into week after week turning into month after month turning into IV fluid after IV fluid, then turning a nondescript corner into a slow, disjointed recovery, I find that: Yes, I am a dancer.
Laying in bed, on the couch, on the porch, needle in my vein, stomach empty, retching, virtually immobile – I would dance. In my head. I would feel all the magnetic pulses on the beat, extending to my limbs and torso and fingertips and neck and knees as I laid still and pretended.
Eventually though the pretending with no real sign of actualization simply became depressing. So I stopped dancing.
In body by force.
In mind by choice.
The grand irony, of course. The grand perfection, as it were, was that stillness and stop-ness were precisely all I had been asking for. Flipping through recent writing, seeing reminders and requests to “slow down” to “homestead” and “learn how to feel okay with slowing down” I had that awkward ah-hah moment one has when they realize that the torture they are inhabiting is the blessing they had so clearly asked for.
Somehow, I had kept the faith that this child in my womb had a master plan that I was not yet aware of. There were times, several times, serious and scary times where that faith wore as thin as fillagrie. But an intricate and delicate web remained steadfast.
Even more deliberately than before.
More unpredictable than before.
More grateful for the smallest movements than ever before.
This child has spared no time in demonstrating the mana with which s/he will navigate this world…and all worlds. I am simply fortunate enough to serve as willing hostess for this time.” – summer