It is the last lingering writing of the evening and we are slow dancing to 9:30.
Thoroughly spent by the night’s activities, we have danced, and spun and twirled. So what do we need of this last piece, as the sweat cools on our backs and we lift the hair off our neck? Our feet are a bit tender, we smell of clean sweat, and we long for a cool drink of water.
What is the last lingering writing of the night?
…. It is three women warming up for the new year. It is the beginning of new tales, of untellings and revealing.
It is trust and heart softening and rejoicing at the safety that is this room, this space, these women.
It is the comfort of knowing that even after all this time, all those pages, all those words, we still continue to invent new characters, new settings and new stories.
Another layer is revealed, soft as the butterfly wing. Hello? Surprise? Where did you come from? Thank you for sharing.
It is the mystery, the magic of this experience, the ceaseless song that is pen on paper. It is the infinite imagination that is ours. It is the wonder at the beauty, the brilliance, the sorrow, the love that is each of our writings.
What lingers is the sense that in this space, this room, with its four walls, a carpet and a couch, is safety. A cocoon where stories can be shared, pains can be exorcised, delight can be found. Silly, fun and playful can all come to the table. And sometimes, it is just obtuse, and ugly and dull. But always, always it is welcome.
So what lingers is a profound gratitude for the angels that share this room with me tonight, each of us alone and yet together. Casting out golden ropes to hold to when the waters get rough, or blowing breaths of sweet love as we fly.
Hallmark card? Perhaps. But that is welcome too.
So soon it is time to say goodnight, to take sleepy eyes to bed, and crawl into bed next to warm skin and kind hands. Always kind hands.
To know I am safe, and loved, and welcome.
With so much gratitude to my dear friend Deborah Edler Brown