Friday, October 17, 2014

Restlessness


 There is something in October that stirs the gypsy blood: We must rise and follow Her. When from every hill of flame She calls, and calls each vagabond by name." 
~ William Bliss

***

Restlessness prompts a walk at twilight. Stepping out onto the front porch, I breathe in the fading evening. I set off on a familiar path. I pass by dimly lit houses, ruby red tinted trees, and glowing street lamps. I walk in the middle of the street, relishing the sound of my boots clicking against the pavement. No cars appear; no one interrupts with a hello or neighborly small talk.

My whispering thoughts are background noise to a present heartache. A heaviness is here, a heaviness that is not entirely mine, a collection of stories spoken by loved ones and news reporters. I walk quickly, as if I could somehow outrun this ache.

Walk with the heartache. Be present in the discomfort. Breathe.

The moon rises in a grand, slow debut. In the darkening shadows, I’m tempted to run, carefree and wild down the block. Running may satisfy this nagging hunger. It’s a hunger that doesn’t want to consume. It’s a soul hunger eager to give my entire self to a cause, a person, a piece of writing. This hunger is growing and is becoming a daily presence. It’s manifesting in a restlessness begging for a short trip, pushing me out to walk alone at twilight.

I resist the urge to run. I continue to walk and breathe deeply. I listen for the lesson, for the wise voice to tell me what to do next. I don’t hear an answer, only the sounds of the falling night. I let myself be restless. I breathe into the twilight. I notice the appearance of the stars. I embrace the moment and let the starlight embrace me.