In the aftermath of these struggles with Nora when I am feeling bruised and beaten and drained of all resources, having dug deep into the dark recesses for any reserve patience I might have – that’s when I remember my grandmothers, my great-grandmothers, my seven-year-old self. And when I remember, I realize that all of these compromises and negotiations – this processing that I am doing with my little wild horse, Nora – I am also doing it for them.
I am giving breath to the intensity, holding a safe place for the storm. I am not squelching it; I am giving it room to expand and to temper itself. I am doing the work of generations. I am honoring the fire.
This remembering helps. Perhaps this is my legacy. Maybe there is more to come. But it strikes me that even if this is it, this work is holy and it might be enough for now.