"Perhaps all the dragons in our lives are princesses who are only waiting to see us act, just once, with beauty and courage. Perhaps everything that frightens us is, in its deepest essence, something helpless that wants our love."
(the next few days i'm heading toward the belly of that fear so i beg your forgiveness for emails left untouched and the like.
oh yes, and happy weekend.)
she was twenty-one, for God's sake. she must be allowed to grow up. by the time they were her age, most of the heroines of literature had lived, loved and even died...if she wanted to be a heroine, it was time to start behaving like one.
robyn sisman
i found myself sobbing in central park last friday. big, loud walloping sobs as i plodded through the falling snow.
and it felt so damn good.
i cry often in new york. at the most inopportune times. in the strangest--and most public--of places. my saving grace is that i'm a quiet crier. small, silent tears.
but on friday, in the park, amongst all that snow and white and absolute quiet i unleashed some powerful sobs. it seemed safe there. as though all that space and white would quickly swallow them up.
it wasn't a sadness that prompted the tears. well, yes, i suppose it was sadness. but it was the sadness of someone else. a stranger. and a stunning display of humanity that i wasn't meant to see. and that person's unfurling stirred my own residual silt. and just exactly as new york was transformed into a snow-globe, i witnessed my own inner swirling. of past emotions--failings and frustrations and countless mistakes. and it seemed so dirty this inner silt. so dark, so different than the the white before me, the white beneath my feet.
but as i walked, and as i sobbed, i felt the dark pieces fall out of me. and no, i didn't look back. but i knew. knew the snow swallowed them whole.
for me snow, more than anything else, is about healing and rebirth.
