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.