Buried in the Snow

Sometimes, it is as simple as a metaphor. Sometimes, it’s the truth. Sometimes, as Magritte said, “ceci n’est pas une pipe”. This could be a representation of reality. Or as Poe suggested, perhaps we’re living inside of a dream within a dream. My life feels surreal lately. I took a train to an unknown city, and I spent last week exploring it and trying to decide on the meaning of the word “home”.

It has snowed. Holidays have passed, and yes, I have cried. But the crying can be healing. I have read my oracle cards, and I feel they offer some hope. They speak of transitions, the fire that has been tamped within, they mention new beginnings, learning, and becoming.

I want someone to reassure me it will all end up okay, but the truth of the matter is we won’t know til we get there. I have often said I don’t want this to be a diary, but I have found myself sitting on snowy ice more than once, contemplating my choices. It’s hard to create when you’re focused on survival. Today has been okay. Today, I actually made progress on the story I’m working on and took notes to brainstorm things.

I know sometimes, I need reassurance but sometimes wish I could give it as well. I don’t know who will see these words, but I want to tell you that it will be okay. It’s not easy, but life isn’t meant to be easy.

Now, back to the writing.

One thought on “Buried in the Snow

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