Percolating beneath the surface..
Many things are happening, and yet it seems my progress is slow. Maybe you’re feeling this way too.
And I’m feeling very deeply the subtle changes of the season.
The moon is about to be fully shadowed and I’m called to review, review, review before setting intentions for the new moon. We’re preparing for the cross-quarter time, Imbolc and Saint Brigid’s Day.. getting ready to highlight and honour the first signs of spring.
Winter is still here, yet its zenith has passed; new life is percolating beneath the surface. My pot of paperwhites is in bloom, but of course the bright yellow blooms are a mirage.. hot-house forced.
That’s how life is sometimes. Hot-house forced.
Not allowing melancholy to stay for more than a few seconds, not allowing myself to be drawn to negative swirls, I take note, and then move on.
If I’ve studied “something” today, put heart and soul into something and have extended myself, have used my concentration, have given my cognition a good workout, then I check the box. It seems the complexity of the subjects, the expanse of the grouping of subjects, is becoming more complex. This is very good work and I’m pleased with it.. and yet, it’s painstakingly slow.
Or it seems slow to me.
Noticing the melancholy and moving on.. I sink into a pleasurable pastime.. something that feels good.. not too complex, not too boring..
And try hard not to get bogged down in trying to figure out how far I’ve come, and how far I have to go.
❤️
Image: Portrait of Madame Reynouard, 1916, by Italian painter Amedeo Modigliani (1884-1920)