I’m not sure if “Retreat!” is the key to releasing myself from this perpetual pattern interrupt, but I’m ready to give it a try. And if it turns out that this is just a fancy way to decorate the ever-extending liminal spaces, I’ll take a retreat alone over there in that corner, a pampered retreat by the window, please, a friends’ retreat in the middle seems right, and we can polish it off with a learning retreat right here up front.
I’ll do my best to be a supermodel by living my life in full integrity and authenticity.
For these eight days away from home at home, mom has been whole. For me, anyway. I close my eyes and I see her through my front window. She’s weeding the walkway to my porch.
Some mornings I stand on the edge of a steep knowing, a transformational space of understanding, embracing the brilliance that opens infinitely before me. Others, the land is flat beneath my feet, the same as it always was, closed off from the mystery beyond by a patch of trees, shadows, confusion. I’m fine and I’m falling apart. These are both true.
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