The autumn fog rolled in early for me this year. To my great surprise, the heft of fall settled into my life right about the middle of August.
For the past few months, it felt like someone turned out the lights on me. At first, I was swiping my arm across the wall frantically searching for the light switch. And then, sometime in early October, I surrendered.
I gave myself the gift of luscious and deep rest.
I spent my mornings lingering over puzzles and crosswords. I started playing the piano again. I picked up embroidery. I let my hands become busy with something, ANYTHING, other than shuffling cards. I plunged my face deep into cold water and discovered how to become still. I spent hours learning how to laugh and be fully present with my husband and daughter again, this time without checking my phone or running off for a work call. I won and lost many rounds of Parcheesi and Yahtzee. I went on retreat … twice. I finally said the word “depression” and let myself mourn my disconnection from my body. I went to museums and cried over the energy of the paintings and relics. I let the voice of my intuition go fully quiet. And then I found it again.
My psychic connections have changed. There is a different quality to the loving strength there that I’ve never felt before. It went from being a breathy whisper and unclear images to feeling like being handed hot plates heaped with food from the thick forearms of my female ancestors. It’s nourishment without the fear or confusion I once felt.
I am entering winter with a new hardiness, a respect for how my channel needs to be fed and nurtured.
And it's just the beginning.
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