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threshold

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What threshold is this?

The threshold of the hot flash. The cusp of fifty. The twinkling horizon of the empty nest.

Is it the threshold of speaking my mind? Of reaching a hand out to others, in strength and soft grace.

Of not giving a damn on one hand and caring more deeply on the other.

Or is it teetering on the edge of a new opportunity so precious and bright that I can’t see it yet?

For months in my mid-40s I felt a figure coming to me as though across the water. A sort of iceberg making its way to my shore.

That was followed by a period when I felt the tug of wings on my back – wings that offered sweet possibility but also weighed me down with the pain of attachment.

I am not sure what the iceberg was; the feeling simply passed. And one day the wings were gone, flown away.

So perhaps this sense of a doorway will also pass without its meaning directly known.

I’ve dropped an anchor deep into the soft belly of this life’s ocean.

I don’t need to go anywhere, but at the same time I offer myself up.

What’s next? What’s next?

Whether I pass quickly or stay here longer, I offer myself up. 

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