Virginia Woolf wrote that “A woman must have money and a room of her own if she is to write fiction.”
A certain space, I imagined, where creative energy could flow freely. I crave that when I want to write , when I have thoughts that just have to be captured on paper. It is often not a room though for me, but just a space. A gracious and plush yellow couch…a rattan chair outside under the blue dome and blazing sun.
Just as important is a place to cry. A indispensable space for my life energy to flow and for healing to continue. A place where my tears flow freely and without judgment. Without pity. Without question. Without ready solutions. Just to let them fall over my cheeks . I taste their saltiness. Their wetness is real. And often they are just below the surface of my daily mask. Perched. Ready.
I am grateful for a place to cry. I need it. I crave it. Even if its just for a moment. A woman, a man must have love of self and a place to cry if she/he is to live fully.
Do you have a place?
