The sullen wind was soon awake...
It's a very wintry night here in Launceston, and the lashings of rain on the roof and windows keep summoning Robert Browning's words to me, though the sad delusions of Porphyria's lover were forgotten until I read the poem again just now.
Ben and the boys are asleep. David had a fever earlier, and still has a hacking cough, which has lingered for over two weeks. I'm enjoying the silence of the house, the music of the rain, a slow and constant pattering with accelerandos of intensity, and diminuendos that change to sudden crescendos, like a overly dramatic orchestra summoning a swirling, dancing, frenzied mood.
I'm feeling very still and centered lately, as if all extraneous material has been swept away from my life, and I can now see the most important things with exquisite clarity. I feel, in a way, as if I am truly alive and aware for the first time, though this feeling is coupled with a strange affinity for moss growing on a damp log - time seems to pass very slowly. I still get upset and frustrated (for example, when Nathaniel refused to go to school today, saying in his baby voice that he just wanted to be with mama), but I can let go of it more easily than ever before, and things that would have had me distressed in the past seem to flow like water off the proverbial duck's back.
I can see how I previously avoided conflict and distressing feelings by keeping busy, and it seems to me that I have been sleep-walking for much of my life - particularly with my children. This may have been partly due to the chronic sleep deprivation of the past nine years, but I'm also aware that I spent far too much time being distracted by emails and reading endless interesting things on the net, rather than truly being present with my kids. Reducing, or almost eliminating, access to electronic playthings has helped improve connectedness in our household, though I still sometimes rely on them to give me the peace I need for an afternoon rest.
I feel sad for time that was not spent as well as it could have been, but it was all part of the path to being here, now, thankful for our many blessings, determined to make the most of every moment, and to cherish watching my boys grow up into fine young men. Non, je ne regret rein.
