Last night, over the course of two hours, I faced three beautiful people in various stages of loss to me (newly declared and imminent, known for a while and imminent, complete), of various degrees of past closeness (a teacher, a tango friend, a lover). Yet for the first time since I had remembered myself, I didn’t feel devastated by abandonment, but rather next to nothing for myself and next to love for them. May that be all the work claiming ownership of my happiness and misery over the past few weeks, and nearly 6 years of – for lack of a better word – awakening bearing fruit?
And yet – out there, wild, unowned, are the dreams. The dreams that wake me up happy, the dreams that wake me up weeping. This morning, I sat down, faced the dreams, and let them have it.