Motherwell: An Exercise in Art and Practice

This evening at 9:51pm, an email popped up in my inbox I had been waiting for. This isn't to say that anyone had said it would actually be sent, or that I knew who it would come from, exactly, but yet, in the less-than-seven-days that I really, truly hoped it would come in - there it was.

At 9:51pm no less.

I can't express the relief I felt and feel.  A person you don't even know with the information you need falling, like some weird and strategic feather, into your accidentally open and outstretched palm when you need it most.

Talk about manifesting.

I am grateful, thankful, relieved and ready.  A determined and quick study.  I had been wondering why I wasn't sweating it, but something told me just to be patient.

And then?

There is was. 

 (pause)

Piece by piece by piece.

Something is happening.

It is the most satisfying feeling to feel its electricity going through me.

(pause)

There is something to be said about being open.

There is something to be said about putting pain where its place is.

Tell me:

When is the last time you cried yourself to sleep

in the arms of someone

who is still here?





Be well; be loved,

k.

(image credit: Open #23, 1968 by Robert Motherwell (1915-1991) via giamvixxx tumblr.)