Soul Weary

I have been woefully negligent in the writing arena, as of late. I have written very little all week. But to write from my soul, I need to fortify myself with a large serving of creativity, a sprinkle of humor, and dollop of passion and a serving and a half of introspection. And I’ve been neglecting my soul recently. It’s hungry. Starving, actually. I’ve treated it to a few helpings of nutrition this past week, but not nearly what it needs. I’ve fed it a lot of junk food, and expected it to carry burdens that really were not its own. And the wear and tear on my soul as of late has given me insomnia, headaches and a general feeling of melancholy.

For me to be creative, and witty and passionate and self-aware, I must feed my soul. I need time and space to be still with God. I need to listen to the heartbeat of nature; smelling the air, feeling the breeze, hearing the call of the cardinal, feasting my eyes on the pillowy clouds floating in the sky. I need to read good books, filled with words woven by gifted writers into beautiful stories or poetry. And I need my friends; sisters with whom I can share that I am soul-weary, and they will listen and empathize and encourage.

The past two weeks have been filled with transitions. And I am transitionally-challenged. I hate change. It’s always been hard for me. Stability and consistency keep me balanced and peaceful. I’ve poured a lot of emotional energy into these transitions, and neglected the care of my soul. I am not my best self when I do that. But another week begins tomorrow- so I will try.

My Soul is Awakened by Anne Bronte
My soul is awakened, my spirit is soaring,
And carried aloft on the wings of the breeze;
For, above, and around me, the wild wind is roaring
Arousing to rapture the earth and the seas.

The long withered grass in the sunshine is glancing,
The bare trees are tossing their branches on high;
The dead leaves beneath them are merrily dancing,
The white clouds are scudding across the blue sky.

I wish I could see how the ocean is lashing
The foam of its billows to whirlwinds of spray,
I wish I could see how its proud waves are dashing
And hear the wild roar of their thunder today!