I've written about my storms in a thimble. I have ideas and then I don't go through with them, or I do and they come to nothing.
My appearing in the paper tomorrow feels like a much bigger storm, not only within me but without me as well.
A storm like I saw years ago when crossing the Atlantic.
The captain of the motor boat told the crew to "stay indoors" but I wanted to witness the ocean's fury brightly lit under a lightening sky.
I snuck out and held on so hard to the metal rails as I slowly, carefully made my way down to the aft, the back of the boat.
What I saw was terrifying, exhilarating, awesome.
Where am I going with this you are wondering (I barely know myself anymore I'm so shattered)
Years ago, in my letter to Blair I wrote: "We stand before God and our country and ask for a stable, affordable home."
Yesterday, in the clarity of my mental breakdown/breakthrough, I realised that I was doing exactly this through the local paper. The 'guttersnipe' of back then is the same 'stigmum' of now.
The Party Leader I coincidentally met symbolises my country (all three of them do to me in this borough's coalition as you know).
When I spoke to the him, in a news room full of people, it was with God in my heart.
I find this all rather overwhelming.
I finally understand the dream I had.
I'm due a Big cry.
To cry is to heal (Clarissa Pinkola Estes)
I am asking angels to protect me. I have plans over the next couple of days anyway, so I'll be fine.