Yesterday I had my first real move related full on freak out. And though it was my own usual quiet version of a freak out, it still wasn't pretty. Though I may not express it outwardly my insides were all in knots.
My soul was (and is) aching.
It wasn't a surprise.
I just left everything and everyone that I have loved
and held dear for the last year of my life,
so it isn't surprising that I eventually
had to show some sadness about it.
But the part that was surprising
(at least to me)
was that after a good nights sleep
and a little distance
I woke up
made a pot of coffee
and started making art.
I wrote a few pages in my journal
and then I painted.
And I cant even tell you the difference that it made.
It was like the darkness was able to flow right out of me onto the page and turn itself into something beautiful. And it doesn't matter to me if its good or if anyone else wants it. What mattered was how healing the process was.
even though the rain is falling
things are looking much brighter.