The song and riddle of fae move through me.Possibly a remembrance from my Scottish maternal grandmothers. Long lost without mention in the lineage of patriarchy. I now discover them through the matrisphere of ancestral circuitry.
This is my storm. In the evening of life will I be found or lost? Will I even be remembered? This storm also is illusionary, for in the face of it, without the eye of it, I see myself and remember. I am the storm, bringing all weather and living to this wonder-full heart of mine and my Grandmothers.
Thank you Sez and community for this curiousness of fear and waiting for a storm that ceases to be, except in me.
Linda, your words stir something deep in me. I’ve weathered more storms than I’d ever care to recount, each one leaving its mark. But your reflection reminds me that, like you, I too am the storm. I’ve stood on the brink, preparing for the worst, only to realize that the real challenge wasn’t what came from the outside—it was the air growing too heavy, too still, inside.
Opening the windows, letting the wind carry in the scent of the world again, feels like reclaiming that power. It rattles the shutters, shakes the dust off, but it’s in that wildness where I find myself again. Your connection to your grandmothers and the ‘matrisphere’ resonates with me; it’s a reminder that we carry more than fear. We carry the strength of those who came before us. The storm is in us, and so is the calm that follows.
This is a poignant response, Linda, thank you. I share the discovery of long-lost family members who slipped through the cracks of time and into familial forgetfulness. To remember and matter to ones self is of primary importance - to let our lives stand for something, even if it's kindness, gentleness, truth or curiosity is how we reach beyond our own lives and into others'. We will never truly know what affect we have on others, like your grandmothers who are now living through you, we can only hope there will be those who are fortuned with enough knowledge and compassion to help us live again. Much love.
This poem speaks to me in a way that I can’t ignore. I’ve weathered more storms than I ever wanted to, survived things that left me closed off, always bracing for the next wave. But there’s a time for everything, and I reached the point where the air inside became too stifling. So, I threw open the windows. Now, the wind rushes in, carrying the scent of ozone and salt, rattling the shutters, but I’m breathing again. Sometimes, it’s not the storm we need to fear, but what happens when we hide from it for too long. There’s freedom in letting life in, even when it’s messy.
Love this, Jay - your final words are wise and a practice we all seek to truly embody. On a conceptual level, it's easy to say 'yes, all is welcome' but when that storm comes through we hide. Our brains are rooted in survival, so it is quite natural. In my own experience however, Ive found that unravelling escapism, anxiety, and sorrow from my identity (who repackaged these fears into what I called being a 'free spirit' )- to be of great use. I'm no longer that person because I'm no longer waiting. Like yourself, I'm breathing again. Thanks for your heartfelt response.
Thank you, Sez. Your reflection on hiding from the storm really resonates. It’s so natural to brace ourselves, yet unraveling those layers—whether it’s fear, anxiety, or sorrow—can lead to such deep growth. I love how you described stepping away from that identity you once held and allowing yourself to breathe again. It’s inspiring to see how you’ve moved through that process, and I’m grateful for your thoughtful response to my words. There’s so much strength in letting go of the wait and embracing what life brings.
I am beginning to see that I have always come from a place of fear, distrust and lack, placed in me as a young child by a family that knew no other way to be, and still don’t to this day. I am trying to be conscious now of the words; love, trust, faith, abundance, giving; as I approach my experiences unfolding FOR me, not TO me, but for me to learn and grow. My storm is inside of me as others have said. Trying to focus on the eye of it now where it is calm. Thank you Sez and to this community with love ❤️ 🙏
Sorrow and anxiety have been at the center of my story—and my identity.. But now I can consider what would happen if I open, receive, or even identify with joy, happiness, or lightheartedness. I’ve experienced these for mere moments before my fear of losing them (which is my “storm”) has kept me in my self-assigned place. But I’m waking up enough to prop open the windows and doors, beginning to trust that the good in life is meant for me to receive it, fully. 🙏🏻
The song and riddle of fae move through me.Possibly a remembrance from my Scottish maternal grandmothers. Long lost without mention in the lineage of patriarchy. I now discover them through the matrisphere of ancestral circuitry.
This is my storm. In the evening of life will I be found or lost? Will I even be remembered? This storm also is illusionary, for in the face of it, without the eye of it, I see myself and remember. I am the storm, bringing all weather and living to this wonder-full heart of mine and my Grandmothers.
Thank you Sez and community for this curiousness of fear and waiting for a storm that ceases to be, except in me.
Linda, your words stir something deep in me. I’ve weathered more storms than I’d ever care to recount, each one leaving its mark. But your reflection reminds me that, like you, I too am the storm. I’ve stood on the brink, preparing for the worst, only to realize that the real challenge wasn’t what came from the outside—it was the air growing too heavy, too still, inside.
Opening the windows, letting the wind carry in the scent of the world again, feels like reclaiming that power. It rattles the shutters, shakes the dust off, but it’s in that wildness where I find myself again. Your connection to your grandmothers and the ‘matrisphere’ resonates with me; it’s a reminder that we carry more than fear. We carry the strength of those who came before us. The storm is in us, and so is the calm that follows.
This is a poignant response, Linda, thank you. I share the discovery of long-lost family members who slipped through the cracks of time and into familial forgetfulness. To remember and matter to ones self is of primary importance - to let our lives stand for something, even if it's kindness, gentleness, truth or curiosity is how we reach beyond our own lives and into others'. We will never truly know what affect we have on others, like your grandmothers who are now living through you, we can only hope there will be those who are fortuned with enough knowledge and compassion to help us live again. Much love.
This poem speaks to me in a way that I can’t ignore. I’ve weathered more storms than I ever wanted to, survived things that left me closed off, always bracing for the next wave. But there’s a time for everything, and I reached the point where the air inside became too stifling. So, I threw open the windows. Now, the wind rushes in, carrying the scent of ozone and salt, rattling the shutters, but I’m breathing again. Sometimes, it’s not the storm we need to fear, but what happens when we hide from it for too long. There’s freedom in letting life in, even when it’s messy.
Love this, Jay - your final words are wise and a practice we all seek to truly embody. On a conceptual level, it's easy to say 'yes, all is welcome' but when that storm comes through we hide. Our brains are rooted in survival, so it is quite natural. In my own experience however, Ive found that unravelling escapism, anxiety, and sorrow from my identity (who repackaged these fears into what I called being a 'free spirit' )- to be of great use. I'm no longer that person because I'm no longer waiting. Like yourself, I'm breathing again. Thanks for your heartfelt response.
Thank you, Sez. Your reflection on hiding from the storm really resonates. It’s so natural to brace ourselves, yet unraveling those layers—whether it’s fear, anxiety, or sorrow—can lead to such deep growth. I love how you described stepping away from that identity you once held and allowing yourself to breathe again. It’s inspiring to see how you’ve moved through that process, and I’m grateful for your thoughtful response to my words. There’s so much strength in letting go of the wait and embracing what life brings.
I am beginning to see that I have always come from a place of fear, distrust and lack, placed in me as a young child by a family that knew no other way to be, and still don’t to this day. I am trying to be conscious now of the words; love, trust, faith, abundance, giving; as I approach my experiences unfolding FOR me, not TO me, but for me to learn and grow. My storm is inside of me as others have said. Trying to focus on the eye of it now where it is calm. Thank you Sez and to this community with love ❤️ 🙏
Oh my I read this after I wrote my own thoughts—totally get this, Anne ❤️❤️
Sorrow and anxiety have been at the center of my story—and my identity.. But now I can consider what would happen if I open, receive, or even identify with joy, happiness, or lightheartedness. I’ve experienced these for mere moments before my fear of losing them (which is my “storm”) has kept me in my self-assigned place. But I’m waking up enough to prop open the windows and doors, beginning to trust that the good in life is meant for me to receive it, fully. 🙏🏻
🙏🏼🙏🏼