Breathing is difficult. Sensations of shock and disbelief consume my world: nausea, shaking hands, trembling voice, tense shoulders and clenched jaw.
Earthen green, blue, brown show me how to explore upheaval and process a storm.
Moving my body gives a channel to energy in motion: not a movement of punishment rather a release and respite within life force.
The climb was steep. I voiced out loud, “YES… this is difficult!”
My journal captured these thoughts: “My identity is gone, I am undefined. MRS: the myth of forever now difficult, scary & unfamiliar. I thought I could always count on us. An illusion I bought and valued. Alone and devastated, death begins to pull away my flesh, fabric tethers and frays, the wind challenges my strength, my resilience. Walking weak and weary in a forced direction.”