at night i listen for the wind outside my window

A great and terrible silence has fallen on a part of my life that has been, for all these years...all of our years... a noisy, joyful, painful, pleasurable, messy and jubilant space, full of... full. Just full. And now it is so quiet. I feel Winter as a comfort for it speaks to my bones. White, silent, still, waiting, yet held aloft, arms upright, lifted in anticipation of some small movement, some wintering storm that will snarl through and snap the branches and break open the ice on the river. Of all things, myself a Scorpio, this kind of suspended animation is the least bearable. I can run in the river of fire but I die on top of the frozen tundra. Agitation begins to burden me until I am forced into either a massive, childish breakdown that artists are- used to be- famous for, or a retreat. For now, for the love of my family and my loyalty to them, I retreat. So my words lose their force and their heat and their life and fall like dead leaves... Jack White, Dead Leaves and the Dirty Ground. I go to write and want to hold my keyboard close and weep over the words that will. not. come. I cling to music. I reside there and the books I read and the vanilla necks and closer than close eyes of my children. I pray and cry like women have done for centuries, in the middle of the night when everyone is asleep. I pray for guidance to do the right thing. I pray for strength beyond my expectations of myself. I pray for clarity. Most of all, I pray for patience, this the least of all my graces. I hear the echoes of priests I've never spoken to telling me to wait. Have faith. The answers will come. I hate waiting. I feel the days slipping by and want to break open the sky with a mighty Thor like swing of axe, I want to scream the birds out of the trees, I want to force life. I want to make, and do, and create, and this is my nature. Please help me, please help me, my prayers just say thank you and please help me.

“Certain thoughts are prayers. There are moments when, whatever be the attitude of the body, the soul is on its knees.” 
― Victor Hugo