The pieces of the cosmic filter in and out - they've been here lately at the edges, ephemeral as an aurora, but just as real, too. Cosmic means finding new women or seeing the magnificent ones in my life with new eyes. Going to the computer and saying a firm no to the internet and writing another scene, another page in the novel. I have an old journal where, at one point, I had one of those naive but sweet epiphanies and scrawled across a page, "Discipline is freedom!" But it is. Doing the work creates a synergy, a change that never stops astounding me.
I have begun dancing with an old friend of mine. It humbles me to turn to this art form after my art form, my mother form, my true to form has gone through such a vast change this year. But I had been praying for dance to show her face to me in a different guise, and here it is. I am learning so much from dancing with this woman. And I was inspired by a visit from another old friend - one who also does the work. She reminds me: imagination is one of the most important torches to hold. And all this happening right around Imbolc - I had asked Goddess Bridgit to help me take my new form and give forth from it. Fire speckled salamanders take the embers of my dreams just before I shake them away by waking. They put them in a hidden crucible by the early morning light that falls on my wide-eyed son in watery, expectant tones.
Let my dancing be the liquid part of glass. Let my work be the hardened state. Let my words be the form it takes. Only fruit wood can coax glass in the best way. Take your time, grow sweet, but grow solid - then form from fire.