An exquisite emotional pain results from remaining inside a threshold too long. In healing terms, it is the point at which a stimulus is of sufficient intensity to begin to produce an effect.
My outward appearance of serial indecision and fickle habits of commitment give the impression of constant newness, but are the ways I avoid real change. This understanding is a watershed moment. Thanks for sharing it with me here on the page.
During my first visit to the Netherlands, I took hundreds of photos of my travels. There were many nature scenes, filled with green leaves and attempts to capture the faces I could see in the trunks of wise old trees. And always, whether I was photographing my way through a town or forest, there were doorways.
Images of gaps between tree trunks where the foliage arched to form the entry point to some other place. A series of front doors, taken on a walk through an outer suburb of Amsterdam. Each one telling its own secrets and sometimes whispering an invitation to listen more closely.
There is so much possibility inside that liminal space. The existence that is between where I am, and the next place I will be. It is the Dreamtime of the ancients. Here I am, four years after taking the photos, and for the first time in my life, I feel a connection to Australian native magic.
It only took moving to the other side of the globe and some perspective.
One of the quotes featured in my first novel is from Anaïs Nin. It says,
“And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.”
That quote has sung to me for a long time, only now, I feel the melody. It is nothing like I thought it would be. It is funereal in its rumbling base notes, with the promise of furious dancing in its percussive layer.
It is almost time to stomp. Grief calls to be held. I have ignored it and now the urgency to experience its sweetness is the last binding around that tight bud.