This past week has been a very internal week, a drawing inward, a retreat from the world, a quest to find answers and the next best steps on the path of my life. At the end of a week, I don't have many answers, and though part of me craves a continuing interiority, I know that it's time to be out of my head and into the world. I'm ready to stretch my legs out over dry sidewalks and run through neighborhoods, run through fields, run with-and not to or away from-my thoughts. To make this path literal, to explore new territory, to clear away old patterns and forge new trails. (alas, I'm slipping into cliches...)
My week of thinking was spurred by viewing a very fine production of *Agnes of God,* a play that gripped my psyche in subtle and not so subtle ways. Issues of motherhood, of faith, of reason, of love all swirled together, interweaving with news of friends undergoing fertility treatments and giving birth, to create a powerful wave of thinking. And longing. Or not.
And now Spring, beloved, ravishing, aching, unrequited Spring begins to tiptoe into town, dispelling winter gloom with the promise of glorious fecundity.
It's all a little overwhelming.