It’s taken a while but I’ve come to understand in a deep way that publishing my book will not change my life drastically.
“Julia, you have less than 0.1% likelihood that your book will ever be published.”
“But,” I answer, “those same odds defined my cancer and I got that. Perhaps I’ve earned this.”
I am a healer. I heal every day, I write and paint every week. This will continue despite the number of rejection letters I receive. I am defined by what I believe I am, not by what I believe I am not. My writing decrees it so.
I rotate from side to side in an easy chair, wondering how to get from here to the creek’s bottom. Does that wondrous clear water flow unimpeded or does the murky silt build until the stream has to stop, completely stagnant?
I wish I knew.
Sitting in meditation, waiting for some large, expansive cloud to roll over, bringing thunder and drenching rain, I wait in expectation. Can you stand as witness to the miracle?
I can. I can stand. I can wait. Thirty years is not too long, to wait, to see, to witness your soul turned inside out.
Inside my record is the simple truth, my children’s lives.
Do you know them? Have you met? They live inside me every day. They want to do me first.
Dr. Burns, do you have a pill that makes bad men go away?
They live inside the mind. Can they find a place in yours?