Past mid-March already and the first day of spring.
The days of this month are sliding sideways, sometimes rubbing against one another getting a little stuck, sometimes slipping on past. Too quick to realize.

I’ve finished my next poetry book. Doubted my book. Felt exhilarated by the book. Hated it. Revamped it. Tossed out a few pieces. Got inspired for new ones. Finally felt satisfied. I’m 2 prose pieces away from sending it in to my publisher.

My writer’s pendulum swings back and forth between exhilaration and derision. Sometimes it slows long enough to find my equilibrium.

And so it is with life these days. Giant swings of one thing to the next- a continuing pattern of fluctuating energy where just as I get my footing in one space I’m bouncing on over to another. Then another. Ping pong balls and busy bees; my mind buzzes. Occasionally I still long enough to find my center…

I was once told that balance isn’t obtainable, and I have found this to be true. Life is too dynamic, chaotic, and ever changing to seek perpetual states of balance or to expect ourselves to remain in equilibrium. And right now, as I’m poised on the cusp of radical life change, equilibrium feels impossible.

I go to nature daily for sustenance. She tells me even her pendulum is about to wildly careen as she prepares to leave the sleep of quiet and explode with life. Her skies and trees and earth are a refuge. I press my palms against icy soil and hear the faint whispers of waking up.

I try and be like nature, accepting my own energy and rhythms, taking things as they come, finding what I need for one moment, then the next, and now the next.

The tree sits bare outside my window, I thoughtfully gaze at her as I write these words. There’s a sense of preparedness in her stance, as if she’s readying herself for the changes to come. I’ve bounced since I began writing this post, spontaneously finished those 2 prose pieces- I’ll be pushing “send” to my publisher sometime this week,- bounced on back to finish this up.

A flock of birds gathers on bark and branch- they keep ascending then descending as if they can’t quite make up their mind about what they’re supposed to be doing right now. Their flight seems to be without judgement or concern; they let themselves go up and down, back and forth, here to there. More seem to be gathering, and I realize they are here, are coming back, to greet the spring.

I wish to be like them. Let myself fly as I may.
Sometimes equilibrium is found by learning to fly sideways, swiftly, softly, straight into- the face of change.

In peace,
BethAnne