It’s been long week…and it seems to have merged with this one like one long continuous mess of chaos and bullshit. So I go where I always turn when I’m over the stress limit.
I move to the porch of the cabin and inhale the air around me. There is a peace that already seeps into my being. Sanctuary. I enter and as I do, the massive dog lifts his head and gives a soft woof in greeting before laying his head down. I swear dog you seem to always be in that same spot I laughingly tell him. “It is his resting place when not hunting”, Maman tells me with a smile on her face. The smell of herbs swirl around me filling my nose with their aromatic perfume. I inhale deeply. “It’s been too long Cher,”Maman tells me. I agree and sit down in the rocker that is my accustomed seat when I am here. She moves to place the kettle on the fire, and adds more herbs to the cauldron there. “I love being here, and miss it when I’m gone”, I tell her. she smiles and tells me that I need to come more often. She then looks me over carefully. “You are too pale and way too much stress level. Not enough grounding and too much worry”, she tells me. “laziness on my part about the grounding”, I tell her, and “I can’t always help the worrying”. “What does it change?”, she asks. Nothing I admit. “So, tell me, what worries you and dont leave anything out”. So I begin at the beginning with the move, manic man’s back and forth of confusion and anger…job stresses, life in general. “You’ve left something out”, she tells me. I look up confused for a moment then see the look in her eye. I sigh heavily and lean my head back in the chair closing my eyes. She hands me a cup of coffee, and I take a sip biding my time..stalling…it fills my mouth with the wonder of chicory, chocolate and rum. “Maman”, I begin. “What I do is not easy, and sometimes I just want to chuck it into the swamp somewhere and pretend it never existed”. “But you don’t”, she says. “Non”, I reply quietly. “Why is that?” she asks although I know she knows the answer. “It feels like it would deny who I am and what exists, has always existed in me”, I tell her. She nods. “So tell me about this week”, she shifts gears. I blink and think…this week has just started but it feels like a melding of last which was a bitch. I smile . “well”, I begin, “I’ve been followed to hell by ravens, cavorting over the carrion of road kill , watching me as I travel from start to finish”. “A red tailed hawk soars each morning in front of my car as if to lead the way”. “I sewed my finger..blood sacrifice of sorts ” I chuckle, “and now Im here”. She laughs. “Cher, your details are a little shaky, but it’s sans importance”. “So why the ravens”, she asks slyly. I roll my eyes. “I know why the ravens as do you, and I know why the hawk that flies in front of me as if he guides my steps”. I smile. “Old woman, you are wicked”, I tell her with a laugh. Maman cackles. “You are too serious sometimes ,Cher. I wanted you to smile”. I smile and shake my head and realize that my cup is empty. I hold it out for a refill, and Maman obliges. I sit and sip the coffee and she pulls her special oil out and moves behind me to massage my temple. “Take your times with things as they unfold, cher. You don’t have to know the answers all at once nor act on them”. I sigh deeply and allow Maman work out the kinks that have knotted my mind and spirit. Dreams that have bothered me because they dont seem to fit, mundane life…they all seem to slide away with her capable hands. I close my eyes and feel myself drifting into sleep. Maman removes the cup from my hands and as I slide deeper, I hear the song that has always filled my soul. Brin sings to me and this time its done in words that I know, not the dragon speak that teases my memory, but french , which amuses me. She doesnt usually do this, but this time its as if I am to remember the words, to keep them within my heart to pull out when I am stressed by what the mundane hits me with. Odd that its often this plane that usually causes me more issues..the spiritual, not so much. I smile and the words comfort me as no others could. I will remember them, but for now, I will sleep…deeply and soundly to restore my spirit. Sanctuary…the perfect place to restore what is often jarred and shaken loose.
tempête parfaite
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