Light returns slowly after the solstice, after the Nativity. I am here in this warm room once again, considering the quiet, the lights on trees and in the creche. Considering the silence as my child sleeps upstairs. Considering the dark candles on the wreath. I should light those candles
It is the Feast of the Holy Innocents and I am considering birth and death, bound intimately in the great feast of Christmas. Bound intimately always, I suppose.
I am hugely pregnant: the small person in my belly is kicking ribs, arching his spine. I am in awe of his presence, terrified of his coming, numb with my embodiment and his.
Incarnation: the in-fleshment, becoming human, the meat of being man. Is this what is happening to us? Am I becoming flesh as my child does? as my God does?
It is so difficult to live in this flesh.
Both times I have been pregnant I have found my words slow as my body grew. I haven't written a line of poetry in months, and I find my words come slowly and with difficulty now. A funny time to begin again the blog. But this is my New Year's Resolution: to be accountable here, to try to write, to watch my children and allow myself to feel awe and pain. To produce, to contribute--rather than merely consume--when I enter the online world.
I will begin again slowly. Have patience with me as I struggle with the technology, with extreme pregnancy and soon--new motherhood.