I have started a new journaling practice. At the end of every day I sit down and write whatever is on my mind in the form of a poem or prose. I don’t worry about grammar or editing typos. I just write whatever comes.

Today was a beautiful day – a day representative to me of a shift in the atmosphere of my life. I’ve had quite a few major break throughs over the past two to three months – ones in which things tucked away in the attic of the unconscious are unpacked and brought to the front yard for observation. I’ve only ever had a few of these events in my life, but over the last few months I’ve had a stream of them. I’ve uncovered some dark corners of myself, and when those dark corners are uncovered and brought to light, they don’t have power over you anymore. And so, today, I had this amazing day – one characterized by a feeling of presence and happiness that I had not experienced since 2013. One I had not experienced since before spiritual crisis, before what I can really only describe as trauma, though I never felt comfortable calling it that in the past. This journal in form of prose is what I wrote to capture that shift in me. It is a simple outline of my day today, but expressing all of the presence and beauty that I experienced – that I am beginning to experience again for the first time.

Today
I left my apartment
three times.
On the first,
my son
played with the rocks on the landscape.
I picked an orange flower –
like the sun –
and a branch with tiny yellow leaves –
like lingering Autumn.
He reached up to me with tiny hands
for comfort,
as if fear of the outdoors
would swallow him up,
as if my arms, though tired,
have so much strength in them.
On the second,
I considered purchasing an ice cream
at the nearest ice cream shop.
But then I remembered
that this particular ice cream shop
used to churn out my happiness
when I couldn’t create it myself.
I drove to the nearest coffee shop instead
and purchased a chai tea latte –
single shot of espresso with coconut milk.
I didn’t even care
that it was my final coffee dollar
for the next week and a half.
I just wanted to turn the volume up
on the day’s happiness,
drop by drop.
I listened to a man wax poetic
about suffering –
how it softens us.
I giggled.
Later,
I cried.
I returned and prayed the Sixth Hour
as my son’s lips grazed the icons.
On the third,
the sun was going down.
It peeked through the clouds,
a pinkish tint.
I carried my son,
stopped to pet two dogs,
and looked at the decor on the patios.
I watched my son
run through a sprinkler puddle.
I followed him
up the stairs to the apartment,
slowly, so slowly.
Slowly,
like healing.
Slowly,
like grace.

//Today I left my apartment three times
//Collette Kristevski, 3/6/2019