SeaHeart

Jenn and I have been working around the clock for weeks to get The Dark Wife done in time. I really haven't had a second to sit down and wonder: will this work? What if no one buys it? What if people hate it? Those barbwire thoughts are on the outskirts of the fire, and they don't come for me, because I haven't been paying attention. But when I drop exhausted into bed, they circle like wolves, and I close my eyes, and I do the only thing that makes them go away:

I pray.

And everything stops. And, peacefully, I go to sleep.

I was talking to Jen (wldhrsjen3) the other night, and I was so tired and overwhelmed, and my laptop was open on my lap, and I was staring at everything that still needed to done, and my Jenn had stayed up until seven o'clock IN THE MORNING that day to edit, and she slept three hours, and then was back at it again, and I opened my mouth to say as much to Jen, and all of this stuff started coming out that I didn't even realize I was saying until it was over, and I cried with Jen, and it was better, and I felt such great peace and love, and I wanted to put it all down somewhere so if I ever find myself doubting again, I can remind myself. And I wanted to share.

Through every step of the journey, the Goddess has been there. Through every moment of awesomeness or heartache, She has given me peace and strength and courage I did not know was even possible. Even when I'm exhausted past the point of help, all I have to do is ask Her for a little more strength just to finish it, and I receive it in spades. When something technical goes wrong, and I cry from frustration, I ask for a solution, and--magically--it appears.

The Goddess asked me to tell this story. She asked me to write this book, exactly how it is written, She asked me to tell the story, and She asked me to self publish it. She asked me to give it away for free, and She asked me to trust Her that we would always have enough. She asked me to be tenacious and resilient, courageous and constant, and for everything She asked of me, I have done my absolute best to follow through and uphold it. All of my actions have been a prayer of love to Her, and all of the doors that have opened up, all of the moments where everything went perfect and right and exactly how they should have, have been the humbling and beautiful moments where I felt Her clearly say: "yes, keep going, I love you, thank you."

The Goddess gave me this story. And whether it touches one person or a million people, I trust that everything has happened exactly as it should have, that we have done everything that should have been done, that the world spun and went on exactly as it must.

I am filled with such faith and trust and deep, abiding hope and joy, and every time I am too tired or I wonder if it's worth it, or I wonder if no one will ever read my stories, and everything we have done and worked for and striven for is for absolutely nothing...

I feel a hand on my shoulder, and an overwhelming sense of love and an embrace stronger than I can name.

And I write and I edit and I format and I sleep and I eat and I pray.

And, every single day, the Goddess gives me exactly what I need to do the impossible.

Six days from today, I push my little book out into the great waters of the world. A single candle, a single spark, divinely given and spun.

And I trust it will do everything it's meant to. Everything I am is a prayer of gratitude and love.

I trust You.

The mosquito is so small
it takes almost nothing to ruin it.
Each leaf, the same.
And the black ant, hurrying.
So many lives, so many fortunes!
Every morning, I walk softly and with forward glances
down to the ponds and through the pinewoods.
Mushrooms, even, have but a brief hour
before the slug creeps to the feast,
before the pine needles hustle down
under the bundles of harsh, beneficent rain.
How many, how many, how many
make up a world!
And then I think of that old idea: the singular
and the eternal.
One cup, in which everything is swirled
back to the color of the sea and sky.
Imagine it!
A shining cup, surely!
In the moment in which there is no wind
over your shoulder,
you stare down into it,
and there you are,
your own darling face, your own eyes.
And then the wind, not thinking of you, just passes by,
touching the ant, the mosquito, the leaf,
and you know what else!
How blue is the sea, how blue is the sky,
how blue and tiny and redeemable everything is, even you,
even your eyes, even your imagination.

~ "One" by Mary Oliver