the rope is thin, but does not give way

It seems that talk of the seasonal change has become a popular subject in the blogosphere. It is a trend which I wanted to avoid, but just can’t help myself. This time of year always brings about strong longings and urges in me - it somehow stirs my flight mechanism every year and I itch for change and the difference of a new place - a new life. New spaces and new air to breathe. Approaching fall is much different for me than approaching spring or any other season. It invites me into the darker, colder places of myself, and with it all of the pessimism and doubt that hides there. But at the same time, it invites a hint of hope that tells me death and cold are necessary for spring to come.

It has been an emotional couple of weeks. Another dream has died, and I am stuck in the middle of sadness and feeling the need to pull myself further down the road with gumption that I don’t necessarily have. An emptiness and longing has been laid bare yet again, as seems to be the cycle of my life - hope, disappointment, repeat.

The longer I wait for the changes that I have anticipated, the more I second guess myself. I search for other options and come up with a big handful of nothing. A good friend told me recently that you can’t conjure up peace. That scares the hell out of me because I’m not sure that I feel it and wonder if I’m doing the wrong thing. Then again, I’m not sure that I’ve ever felt real peace so I might not recognize it. All I know is there is a perpetual knot in my stomach. One that I think could be untied by fleeing, which I know is not true but still believe. To be rid of my present situations and the decisions that linger hazily in my foreground would be a sweet relief.

{all the miles}
Sandra McCracken

All the miles between us
They say it’s just the way it goes
Time is no friend to lovers
Stretched like the line that hangs the clothes
But we walk the distance another day
The rope is thin, but does not give way

And I can hear the band of angels singing now
Like a story from the pages read aloud
This is not make believe

It grows up like wild flowers
Free and restless with the wind
I don’t half recognize myself
In this condition that I’m in
Cause it’s like a shelter above my head
It turns the sky and the moon to red

And I can hear the band of angels singing now
Like a story from the pages read aloud
This is not make believe

And I’d rather have the mystery
And the madness and the rains
Cause hell’s the only place
You can be free of all love’s pain

I have no claim on the future
So here I lay me down
And God is a friend to lovers
He makes the bone, the flesh, the ground
And He walks with us, make no mistake
He holds us when our hearts, they break

And I can hear the band of angels even now
Like a story from the pages read aloud
Can you hear the band of angels singing now?
This is not make believe
No, this is not make believe.