#31 Things ending, things beginning
Dec. 31st, 2014 04:42 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kaberettThings ending, things beginning
(In our beginnings are our endings; in endings, new beginnings; we love, and we anticipate our loss.)
I have been wearing Liminal all the way through these new years, these quiet spaces and held breaths and interstitial time. If I am that way inclined I can construct this particular round of painful period as a blood libation to the new year. I am writing this on the evening of the 29th, in the living room with the curtains open looking out to sea over my game of Scrabble (not that I can, in fact, look very far: tonight is clouded and the sky is dark). At some (or several, health permitting) point(s) in the next few days I will take myself down to the beach and my face will be crusted with salt and I will gaze out westward and the wind will bite me and the waves will throw themselves down at my feet, full of threat and promise (both the same; think two things on their own, and both at once).
In the ending of relationships I began to trust myself. In their beginnings I let go a little more fear. I gave people food and love and space to think. We made fire together. (From destruction, we brought forth warmth and light.) I took the peelings and the ends of my cooking, and from them for the first time I made compost; come the new year I'll plant seeds out in it.
I've been living with my housemate for very nearly a year now; we moved in together on the third of January. Cambridge is relinquishing her grasp on me, temporarily, to the Thames. I am still writing, still breathing, still weaving a family. I have laughed and I have kissed people who think I'm wonderful, and I've kissed people I think are wonderful, and I've read some good books and listened to some excellent music and I have loved fiercely and I have made art as only I can. I have helped show other people what they might look like to themselves whole, which is perhaps the greatest of beginnings in my power.
This is enough. Not in the sense of adequacy, but in that of richness: this is enough, and having survived the endings of my past I will survive those yet to come, and it's still the case that I don't know whether it's beginnings or endings that are harder.
(In our beginnings are our endings; in endings, new beginnings; we love, and we anticipate our loss.)
I have been wearing Liminal all the way through these new years, these quiet spaces and held breaths and interstitial time. If I am that way inclined I can construct this particular round of painful period as a blood libation to the new year. I am writing this on the evening of the 29th, in the living room with the curtains open looking out to sea over my game of Scrabble (not that I can, in fact, look very far: tonight is clouded and the sky is dark). At some (or several, health permitting) point(s) in the next few days I will take myself down to the beach and my face will be crusted with salt and I will gaze out westward and the wind will bite me and the waves will throw themselves down at my feet, full of threat and promise (both the same; think two things on their own, and both at once).
In the ending of relationships I began to trust myself. In their beginnings I let go a little more fear. I gave people food and love and space to think. We made fire together. (From destruction, we brought forth warmth and light.) I took the peelings and the ends of my cooking, and from them for the first time I made compost; come the new year I'll plant seeds out in it.
I've been living with my housemate for very nearly a year now; we moved in together on the third of January. Cambridge is relinquishing her grasp on me, temporarily, to the Thames. I am still writing, still breathing, still weaving a family. I have laughed and I have kissed people who think I'm wonderful, and I've kissed people I think are wonderful, and I've read some good books and listened to some excellent music and I have loved fiercely and I have made art as only I can. I have helped show other people what they might look like to themselves whole, which is perhaps the greatest of beginnings in my power.
This is enough. Not in the sense of adequacy, but in that of richness: this is enough, and having survived the endings of my past I will survive those yet to come, and it's still the case that I don't know whether it's beginnings or endings that are harder.
(no subject)
Date: 2014-12-31 04:54 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2014-12-31 06:05 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2014-12-31 07:27 pm (UTC)Happy new year to you and yours.
(no subject)
Date: 2014-12-31 09:57 pm (UTC)Hairy New Ears
Date: 2015-01-01 01:16 pm (UTC)