My heart-state always has a metaphor. Always. My mind conjures them like a washing machine churning clothes and if I watch long enough, the one I want will surface. Except lately the water feels still. I can't think of a fitting metaphor. So, would that mean I'm a blank slate? A vacant lot? An empty chair? Or perhaps a stripped bed? No. I think I just pegged it with the washing machine. Full of water and clothes, but no churning. Still. Silent.
Whatever it is, I can't seem to think of much these days. It could be the allergies that I'm battling, making my head feel as though it's stuffed with cotton. It might be that I'm just too tired to care. It's possible that I'm burying my head in the sand so I don't have to do any digging into my own psyche. It may be just me crawling into dormancy, temporary shut down, laying fallow, awaiting the spring when I feel like growing again.
Whatever it is, I'm up for it. Apparently it's my time to stare off into space or at least feel like I am staring blankly, even when I'm busy. It is my time to avoid looking deep into the recesses of my heart. It is my time to learn the routines of keeping a clean house. It is my time to play the guitar every night. It's my time to allow myself to go to bed if I'm sleepy. It's my time to teach my children that there are cycles in life and we need to listen and love.
It's also my time to love myself even when I don't feel like I'm moving forward.