Actually, I am bordering and dipping into overwhelm.
The packages are not wrapped. Only one batch of cookies baked. The laundry hums. Bills are due and continue to flutter in. The dishwasher groans. Unmade beds look weary. It snowed and now it rains.
I had to pullover today and sit with my emotional side; holidays have a special way to bring it to the surface. Much is golden and softly shimmers although some areas are tattered and hide beyond the fake tree. These feelings aren’t fake but deeply real; packages resting by my heart, each wrapped with layers and somehow the layers start to peel apart.
I find gratitude at the milestones we’ve achieved. It’s easy to find positive in the happy.
“At night, I open the window and ask the moon to come and press its face against mine. Breathe into me. Close the language-door and open the love-window. The moon won’t use the door, only the window.” ~ Rumi
On the flip-side, it takes determination and proactive skills to find gratitude in the darker shades of red and green. I have to add ribbons of tinsel-like breadcrumbs, and follow the sparkles to the tree top of our rather lopsided tree. There I sit with my angel. She’s often nearby. I feel the flutter of her wings and catch a sweet glimpse.
I’ve decided Christmas needs to come four times a year minus the pressures and commercialized retail extravaganza. I want to dedicate time to ease the sharpness of rushed and hurry; find the mellow appreciation of comfort and joy. I’ll stop and listen. Write and breathe. I’ll blow my intentions skyward from the bubbles in my heart. I will resuscitate my aches with deliberate self-love.
Then another thought occurred…maybe it needs to be more than four times a year.
What if I begin and end each day with a tiny list of letting go of self-doubt and worry? And instead hold dearly my sensitive tenderness as a gift of who I am? Find gratitude in the shadows as well as the light?
What if I trusted the protective anchors of realness found in true friends? What if I stepped into my voice? Shared my space? Taped love to my tattered packages? Gave and set limits? Found grace in the messages and lessons cascading in?
“Stop the words now. Open the window in the center of your chest, and let the spirits fly in and out.” ~ Rumi
I’m thankful for this current quiet space to write through an emotional storm. My firefly glow is the color of the late afternoon sky. It is turning into a flame of unanimous nods of joy. My angel acknowledges the warmth.
This is Christmas. It is in the center of my heart.
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Editor: Rachel Nussbaum