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I've always had stories in my head which have held fascination for me. My own introspection has always led me down the path of connections and what those in my life mean to me. What they teach me, as well as all the joy and pain that they bring.
As I went about the business of my life, raising my family, pursuing a business degree, achieving a modicum of success as an Accountant and Financial Manager, life's experiences were always bringing to the fore that these stories, should I waste any more time, would go to the grave with me and then what would have been the point?
These imaginings, they must mean something, right?
There has always been growth, realization and healing for me in these stories. The works of others, I've soaked up with voracity where their messages of healing resonated.
The particulars of my own stories root mostly in familial connections. I have always had an interest in our family's genealogy and the history there. I truly believe these are the undercurrents, the pulsing in our cells that is ancestral drive. They also provide an unbelievable host of characters, such wonderful fodder for story telling!
True to my Gemini nature, as a communicator and dispenser of information, I finally turned a corner, deciding reception be damned! I needed to extract these stories from my imagination and to an audience before they are lost. Even if the only audience are those closest in my circle, for whom the references have specific meaning. But more hopefully, these stories will resonate with an even larger audience. Those yearning, as I often do, to hear the musings of others that support and validate their own journey.
I walk into work on a Monday morning after a weekend of welcome respite...running a little, as seems to be my habit of late. Who am I kidding, it's always been my habit. The halls are dark. There is no one in the main office at the end of that long shadowed hallway. The cavernous lobby echoing my footsteps . My face begins to take on a look of puzzlement. I key my way into the finance department, peering through the small window as I do so. There is a weird niggling in the pit of my stomach. It too, is dark and empty. I open the door to my office and fire up my laptop. As I wait for it to spring to life, I walk to another window to peer into the neighboring department, also dark and empty. It's times like these I begin to question my own sanity (yes, that's an admission. This kind of thing has happened before). It feels like that dream, the one where you walk into your classroom only to discover you forgot to put on any pants. WTF?! Is everyone in a meeting somewhere that I forgot about? Maybe it's still really Sunday. Did I lose a day or a week somewhere, an unknown alter ego living my life while my conscience self takes a break? It feels like some surreal dream. Did the Rapture or the Apocalypse come during the night unbeknownst to me and everyone's gone? It is eerie and disturbing and the mind desperately grabs hold of anything that might restore your sense of this world as it's supposed to be. I start looking at the calendar, what day is it? It is something far more mundane. I am in fact not losing my sanity. Just another extreme reminder of the absentminded self absorption I sometimes live in. The one I subtly attribute to my mother while having to honestly admit I'm a far more extreme case. It is in fact, Martin Luther King day...a holiday. I immediately call my husband, relieved and mortified at the same time, so he can laugh at the ditzoid wife he long ago learned he was married too. Well cool, I think. Another day off. Maybe I can spend the time finishing my Arkansas story...since I was literally just lamenting about not having the kind of time I wish I had to write, to express all the damn thoughts and emotions that seem to flood in the mornings. My cell phone rings. It is a work colleague, the HR manager. Hmm, maybe I'm not so self absorbed and absent minded as I thought. Or at least I'm not the only one. Is she surreally living in some post apocalyptic world today too, having forgotten it was a holiday? I don't answer it. It is a day off after all.
Fall has returned. It's chill breath drifts across my cheek, stirring up its promise, reminding me that it's never satisfied staying in one place for too long. It's searching and insists I shift again, seeking its mysterious and haunting whisper. It doesn't come most years. I pass from the warm long lazy days of summer, breathing in deeply the salty sea air of home, into the briskness of winter replete with warm woolen socks and tribal treasures under soft twinkling lights. I watch it from afar, a brief nod of appreciation at its distinctive and bold beauty, it lets me rest easy, comfortable most years. Fall has returned, and deep in that misty forest, I can see a trail that wasn't visible before. Not quite like those previously explored, the kind that opens wide and catapults you down them, demanding you muscle out your wings and soar, lest you plummet to the ground. This one is deep and lush, the undergrowth and low branches sweep the forest floor of twisted roots threatening to either trip or inspire newly found agility. Its persistence is more potent than any predecessor. I'm spooked, but drawn. With the promised guidance of long heard from voices, I hoist myself onto that familiar and often stood upon rock, feeling its support, bolstering my confidence. I can still see the trail, calling...challenging...daring me. I step forward trepidatiously and begin to sense the familiar promise of strengthened myelin sheaths, newly sprouted neurons, and severed connections that no longer serve me. What every trail ventured has given me, its path leading to a more layered, textured me. Fall has returned, and I venture in....hoping not to trip.