March has just begun.  Every year we breathe a sigh of relief when February ends, then soon realize that March is the “cruelest of months”.  Wait– or is that April?  Despite the spectacular flowers that bloom in spring, our bones are just so ready to be warmed by summer sun.  My nine year old spent the morning fantasizing about wearing shorts on a hot summer day and then plunging into cold water that actually feels good b/c you are that hot.  Alas, how we spend our snow days, hunkered down in our little house.  Imagination is our friend.

I have spent the past two months imagining my new life, beyond the hell of separation and divorce.  Even as I do my best to face each painful emotion– and there are so many that accompany the disentanglement of intense connections– I spend much of my creative energy dreaming of the new life I will soon be able to create from a place of newfound freedom.   I find myself eager to begin yet also wary of moving too fast.  Neither of these emotions is controlled or simple.  The tension between past and future grinds somewhere inside my psyche.

Winter is a time of gestation.  Seeds have been planted but we cannot yet see the fruits.  The intense cold makes us run for cover, hide under the blankets, stare into space with no distinct thoughts or plans to guide us.  This feels amazingly good, probably b/c I am in tune with the season.  Stillness is palpable around me, but deep within changes are erupting.

I feel like a sprout, heading for the sun and fresh air,  careful not to emerge too soon.  It is a dance, a careful emerging that must be paced just right.  Likely the nights will continue to freeze for a while.  The days are growing longer, but only just.  Warm and safe in here, I am not certain I should leave my nest of safety and slow germination.  At the same time, everything I am working on in my life and in myself is preparing me for the rapid growth and changes ahead.

My goal and my dream is to move back home with my children, to re-enter the community and the family of my youth, which I left 21 years ago.  This is in San Antonio, Texas, where my parents, my sister,  my 2 nieces and my 1 nephew live.  I moved to the East Coast and then to Los Angeles in my twenties, enjoying the urban coastal life but never feeling at home.  We moved to Asheville exactly 6 years ago (March 3, 2004), looking to create home in an intentional community and small town, but unfortunately the vibe never quite fit.  I had hoped to move on soon and create home in Israel, which feels so close to my spiritual heart and my Eastern roots (my father grew up in India), but a recent trip to San Antonio showed me the potency of returning to the cultural and emotional roots of my youth.

In some ways, these 21 years have been gestation, seeds planted in new soils, finding new foods and vast spaces to spread my roots, but never really reaching the sunlight above.  How easy and natural it feels to shake off the soil and prepare for a transplantaion back in the rocky soil of my homeland.  Spring is coming and I am looking for some hot Texas sunshine.

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