Posted on 8 Comments

Gone fishing

I’m back.

I didn’t really go anywhere to come back from…but I did disappear for a while….and I missed this part of me.

It was a big year for me, last year. In the grand scheme of things nothing major happened but, all the little changes added together became a rather large curve ball. I embraced it and loved (almost) every minute of it…but in the process, somehow, my words got lost. I have missed writing, I have missed being able to sort out all the words that crash and jiggle and stomp and flit in my mind. I have missed organsingSAM_1516 these slippery little things onto paper so that they would stop creating such a beautiful, crazy cacophony in my head. I tried, so many times, to land my words in my journal as the fly fisher-woman lands her catch on the river bank…but every time I cast into the river I seemed to get snagged in the weeds…and reeled in nothing but a tangled mess. It was frustrating.

But. That was alright. Fishing takes patience….. I know. I watched my grandfather. Fishing is not something to do when there are a million other pressing things to deal with. Time by the river, watching for the words to rise, requires peace and stillness and a quiet mind. As I have adjusted to all the changes, as I have embraced my new life, as I have learned to let go of all things, both physical and mental, that I no longer need I have felt the river of my mind quieten. It has taken a while but then, suddenly and out of the blue, the quiet came. The difference between a silt bedded river and one that runs over rocks….the water is clear again. I can see down to the bottom…and I can see every twinkle of light on the surface.

Change, and how we respond to it, is incredibly personal…for some the tiniest change is enough to muddy the water…for others a huge change can be as simple as diving into the water from the highest rock with no fear. I am the former. But the water has finally cleared and I am looking forward again to every day by my river. I will get back into the rhythm, just as the fly fisher does, a quiet, steady tick tock, one two, rhythm. I will be patient and let the words spawn again…every once in a while I will catch a few and land them on my blank piece of paper…..

Whatever you are fishing for I wish you patience, peace and quiet little moments of triumph.