When last I wrote, I said something about it nearly being Candlemas, or Imbolc. Those are different names (depending on tradition) for the festival that currently survives in modern culture as Groundhog Day. This is the day when the world starts to watch and hope for both the beginning of spring and the return of the light - that last part is particularly poignant when you live as far north as I do.
When I wrote that Imbolc was coming soon, I had no way to know that in one more month I would feel like I'd begun to come back to myself. Back then I could see that there was finally some light at the end of the tunnel; but now I'm starting to see by that light. I won't say that I have emerged from the tunnel, not yet, but I can see my own hands and feet as I'm walking. It's good to see me again.
A rather unexpectedly momentous thing happened today. I say at my computer, opened the program I use for planning and plot-flow, and added to it. For nearly an hour. I haven't had this much creative flow for more than a year. And it was good storyline, too. Permit me a moment to brag - I actually had to stop writing and blink back some pretty big tears because one of my main characters is finally coming together so perfectly. And with so much beautiful precious heartache to Deepen him.
This past year was a doozy for me. I'm not sure, but I almost think I've experienced more losses this year than the rest of my 38 years combined together. Or maybe each just emphasized the sorrow and beauty of the next because they were all strung together, black pearls on a silk thread. I've discovered how beautiful sorrow is when you can finally learn to be friends with it. It shows you love. And I've discovered how good a teacher heartache is when you can learn to listen. It shows you what you value most. Sorrow and heartache, more than any other emotion, have helped show me who I truly am.
Maybe I need that before I could write him properly.
I don't wish sorrow on you, the world already holds more than enough for each of us to have our share. But I do wish for you to walk through your portion of it well. Slowly. Listening. Learning the strength of your own heartbeat while you grieve.