March is notoriously rough for me. Not so much the in like a lion stuff-I tend to respect ferocity. But the sense that winter is never going to end, that sunshine and warmth are a tease and will it please stop raining already? The past few days have been glorious in NYC, not at all the weather I need to escape. From what I hear, the Seattle spring is cooperating also.
So, here we are, at another turn in the season wheel. At Solstice, Mom was diagnosed. At Imbolc, she celebrated her birthday. And now we meet Equinox. The magical time where the day is equal to night, where we tip our toes, finally, into the light half of the year. I wanted to marry today, but logistically couldn't work it out. So we picked the very next feasible date that was closest to the first day of spring. The first day of renewal. When we come out of hibernation, shake the sleep from our eyes, smell the earth, see the new green things sprouted and fresh. It seems an auspicious time to begin a marriage. It seems a possible time for miraculous healing.
And really, isn't all healing miraculous? Watching a paper cut on your finger close and knit and disappear is amazing. Running freely on a hip or an ankle that used to not permit it, that doctors wanted to cut into, is a gift. Cancer leaving the body, tumors shriveling up into nothingness...its possible. It's not likely or probable, but if we can't believe in the possible, especially when the world is new again, when tomorrow the day will be longer than the night...we need to believe that these things can happen. Even if it won't happen in this case, even if its someone else's miracle. I'm putting my energy into healing.
All day long, I've had ee cummings in my head:
since feeling is first
who pays any attention
to the syntax of things
will never wholly kiss you;
wholly to be a fool
while Spring is in the world
my blood approves,
and kisses are a better fate
lady i swear by all flowers. Don't cry-
the best gesture of my brain is less than
your eyelids' flutter which says
we are for each other; then
laugh, leaning back in my arms
for life's not a paragraph
And death i think is no parenthesis