Silent Nights

Tonight, as I crawl into bed for my first night of writing in weeks, I am listening to the traditional music of Advent, O Come Emmanuel (Veni, Veni Emmanuel). The weeks of Advent are about waiting in anticipation of the fulfillment that is to come. It is about clarifying, focusing, and clearing out one's soul in preparation to receive. The words to this hymn were written in the 9th century, the music in the 15th century, and it fits my mood tonight.

For weeks, I have heard little but silence in my soul. I have experienced such a period of intense outward change that my core, writer self has simply been hanging on for dear life, both hands to the pole and screaming into the wind, as the changes, (hereafter referred to as The Great Atlanta To Seattle Move-Tornado of 2011) picked up my little bag o' bones, blew them across this great nation of ours, and deposited them in a completely new life. It was my fourth transcontinental move. That won't sound like much to some of you, and the first three times, it wasn't difficult for me. I was much younger then.

But as I sit here tonight, trying to tie thoughts to paper, I begin to feel less shell-shocked, less brittle, more at home. My Christmas tree is glowing, the warm white lights reflected off of the teal and plum ornaments, colors that make me happy when I look at them. Remnants of my old life, a print of poppies that reminds me of France, a print of a winding path that calls me back to Italy, and sepia photographs of Crete and Florence blend with new modern elements, curiously pewter and silver seem to be my new favorite colors. A cascade of sprout green raw silk, bedroom drapes that shut out the Atlanta night and cocooned me as I wrote, remind me now of springs and growth yet to come here in Seattle.

The night is silent, yet gratefully, after much waiting, my mind begins to come alive. The ticking of the clock, the black and silver Baby Ben that my Grandmother wound every night, ticks beside me, like her comforting heartbeat when she hugged me goodnight. I am in a good place, a place that demands work, offers love, and invites peace. My captive thoughts have at last been ransomed, and I can write again. No more silent nights.