Onward and upward!, as they say.

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Through the murk and mess of unpacking all that has occurred this fall, which was rooted in what happened four years ago, which was the natural endplay of belief systems and learned behaviours embedded before the recall of memory, the everyday shifts and requirements of life continue.

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An Ariadne thread through shredded intentions and unveiled secrets glows with the promise of eventual release from the darkness of it all.  No compass works in the maze of sorting out what belongs to whom, but it’s not an aimless task, or endless.  If you keep a firm grip on that thread, you can also remember to take the garbage out on Wednesday mornings, put gas in the car, and keep your budget balanced in favour of a promising future.

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It’s a cliche now, Joni’s song.  But something is gained, in holding firmly to a curiosity about life.  I’m grateful for all the mess of it, as well as the beauty.  Humbled by it, too.

 

Ariadne, my friend, thank you for reminding me that there is a safer place I can and will be.  I know it looks a lot like my studio, a lot like my cabin.  It tastes like great food and sounds like a bell-toned belly laugh.  It feels like shared things, simple things, like good honest dialogue.  It is the rich comfort of reading under a merino wool blanket, with a fire blazing in the woodstove.

This place has a lightness of being, an active compassion for broken wings and fragility, without any distortion of ownership, projection, or desire.  It is home, where things get done.

Stories are mined in the dark, and told in the light.

 

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