Last night, I landed back home, on the West Coast, after spending nearly two weeks in the Maritimes.
This morning, I woke up at 3am and enjoyed my tea amidst the view of thick morning fog, and the odd, sleepy stares from my pooch, Wanaka.
I scratched her ears and said, “But I slept in if you think about what time it is in Nova Scotia…”
She’s probably thinking, “What did she say? Is it time to poop?”
It’s time to write (because I’ve already pooped this morning).
I’ve been getting so many nudges from Spirit and from those I meet, especially in the last two weeks: ‘How’s your book coming along?’…
I’m using these questions as prompts, as inspiration to write my story.
Because it will help me come back HOME to myself, to heal myself. I feel like I need to read my own story. It will help me step out of wanting to be small to be safe. It will help me settle more fully into who I truly am.
It’s like the book itself is a living, breathing part of me and I need to birth it to allow this part of me to be on the outside as much as in, so I can become more expansive in my nature, my essence.
I’m getting a tad esoteric in this description, so Spirit is suggesting to me right now: ‘Write now.’
Okay, will do. One more tea first.