I feel a little lately like I’m standing on the edge of a cliff.
You know, in a good way.
There comes a moment with most things where you just have to plunge ahead with no guarantee that anything will work out for you or be a good idea, and if you want to do something I guess you just sort of have to do it? Only the one chance, right? And I guess I shouldn’t feel all that freaked out since I’ve slowly but steadily been turning my life upside down since… last November, but I do feel like my ambitions are getting progressively more insane. Which means I am proportionally getting more insane.
Things I am trying to remember - ‘it is never too late to be what you might have been’ ‘your playing small doesn’t serve the world’ ‘you do not even have to believe in yourself or your work. you have to keep open and aware directly to the urges that motivate you.’
I ask you, though - exactly how do I save an extra $2,400 by February? That’s an extra $600 a month. Over the holidays, too.
Possible? Maybe. Daunting as fuck? Yes.
"Light" by Marianne Williamson (via theworldaccordingto-james)
I have been really into this for years, aside from the God bits which are not particularly relevant to me. The sentiment, however, remains essential to how I want to live.
'your playing small doesn't serve the world'.
a thing what I wrote, in it’s rough version. called ‘threshold’, probably, but maybe not.
i live in liminal spaces.
there are places that welcome you to take off your shoes, sit down, stay.
i’ve visited rooms that shut the door and hold you into the night,
that save you a place by the fire
rooms with nails in the walls and wooden frames full of secrets to uncover
rooms you can explore, with drawers to open,
and mirrors that show you the self you are inside the room reflected back at you.
my room is white, decorated only with the geometry of shadows on the walls
and the spaces of light in between.
my room is a threshold, and the wind through the windows
blows the door back and forth, never really open, never shut.
my room does not invite you to stay.
my room is a crossroads.
my body is a crossroads.
there is a place where three paths touch (kiss, briefly) before diverging again, and
standing on the axis (hands, held) provides a vantage point to contemplate each one.
one path (breath, skin) trod often, dirt compacted into almost pavement
another (teeth, thighs) grown wild, with stones to trip and thorns that bite
and a last (lips, shoulders) obstructed, undiscovered,
my body is a crossroads,
a place you have paused to consider
before continuing on
a crossroads (heart, pulse) is a witness to a choice.
you pass through it along your way.
my body is a threshold.
my pulse beats at the threshold
as clouds gather overhead and the air becomes thick, electric,
there is a space between your windows and the first drops of rain.
the window sill knows, and anticipates a storm.
before your hearth blazes with heat, there is a moment when the match must decide to catch fire,
as your lips must decide before they kiss me, as you breathe my breath, as I breathe you.
my pulse beats inside anticipation
in the places between
in the decision.
a threshold is a starting point,
a ledge over which you step (or jump, or fall) into uncertainty.
look for me there, beyond your need to be sure.
i live in between, in the liminal spaces
like the wind through each open window,
i do not stay - but
my heart beats at the threshold
and i wait (pause) for you to begin with me at each next beginning.
written by elena siddal, 9/25/13