"It is only when we silent the blaring sounds of our daily existence that we can finally hear the whispers of truth that life reveals to us, as it stands knocking on the doorsteps of our hearts." ~K.T. Jong
Solitude is not something that finds its way to me. There is always someone clinging to the fabrics, someone in need, someone to hold, and someone to soothe. Even when the moment seems to be knocking at the door, when the children are asleep, and solitude can come easy, there they are, my children, clinging to my heart. I'm never really alone anymore, as a mother I'm not really sure you can be. Maybe you're only truly alone, maybe you only truly belong to yourself in those middle years of unappreciated youth, it's then that you belong to no one and no one belongs to you. It's then that time moves like water, in and out like the tide, no hour carries more weight than the others. Minutes are taken for granted, and time is abundant.
There have been fleeting moments where I've screamed to the stars for solitude, let me be like them, twinkling and far away. I've yearned for a moments peace, to feel like I belonged to myself and only to myself again.
I belong to those I birthed.
I'm an observer of time, as it flows across my children's faces.
I'm a hoarder of memories.
A vessel that has been filled and emptied twice over. A soul that bears the remnants of others.
What a gift to be living, to look back, to dream, to appreciate life's profound seasons...to understand everything and nothing at all.