Spiraling Inward

“The psyches and souls of women also have their own cycles and seasons of doing and solitude, running & staying, being involved & being removed, questing & resting, creating & incubating, being of the world & returning to the soul-place. When we are children and young girls, the instinctive nature notices all these phases and cycles. It hovers quite near us and we are aware and active at various intervals as we see fit.”

--Clarissa Pinkola Estés, Ph.D., Women Who Run With the Wolves

Lately, I’ve been trying to figure out why I can’t bring myself to leave the house. I fought it for a few weeks. I told myself, I’m not going out this week. Spent a lovely Friday evening and Saturday afternoon to myself only to have Saturday night come and make a last-minute, half-thought out mad dash to the front door.

And I did not have fun. It was too cold outside. People were crowded around the bar as if it were an oasis of social refuge. My man wouldn’t stay in one place. The music’s tempo was too aggressive (my life is one, long slow bounce; I require a certain cadence). Lights were too bright, artificial. So I left, disappointed that I didn't listen to myself. Wondering when I would stop going against myself and just heed. I apologized to myself for acting in such an untrustworthy manner & vowed to get it right the next time.

Artificial. Everything seemed artificial.

Sometimes I don’t like being outside at night. I have these moments where it seems I leave my body & I’m just watching everybody mill about, some look like they have purpose, some look lost, quite dazed. The lights are too bright, the air too frigid. & I always wonder about these people—where is your family? Why aren’t you home, enriching your nucleus? What has so compelled you into the world on this particular night? Are you happy? Are you fulfilled? What is your motivation? And I become immensely sad.

Often when I enter my reclusive seasons, I reach a point where I start to feel guilty: I should be capitalizing on the last of the warm weather. Networking. Being exciting. Exploring as much of the cool, random events in my city as possible. What I realized is I was looking to outside sources and events to feel inspiration. I wanted something to think about, turn over, ponder, experience.

I realized I haven’t been able to enjoy going out because my Wild Woman is calling to me; she longs to be my source of inspiration. To turn her over, ponder her. I cannot seek inspiration externally for all the resources I require are within. A bit axiomatic, I know, but a necessary reminder nonetheless.

Instead I have been making time to keep my space clean and organized. To try new recipes and feed myself well. To spend time at my mother’s feet and in the midst of the warm boisterousness of my brothers. To sit in my backyard & listen. To read & research all the things I didn’t have time to, because college. To write—a poem, a song, a rant. & plan. To move slow & still get places "on time." To incorporate ritual. To recall & interpret my dreams. To be a better sister, daughter, lover, friend, dreamer, healer, executrix, gatekeeper.

What I also realized is that I am getting more in tune with my natural cycles. I am learning to listen to my Wild Woman who says, Enough is enough; I need time with you. I have been going into myself and moons have been falling from my mouth. I have been forging my intuitive capabilities, getting back in touch with natural rhythms. Being aware. Alert. Honoring myself. My cadence. My magic.