The Giving Hand

Snow in the springtime is not unheard of in this part of Canada. Still, when I woke up to a sparkling white blanket over everything, I gasped. The little buds on the shrubs outside were so ready to burst open. They were surely more shocked than I when the heavy rain of yesterday took a turn.

Timing is everything. The snowdrops are hardy enough to survive this. They’ve already made a cheerful appearance. Spring will find its way through the sub zero. The certainty of the seasons makes me feel okay.

So, I sit with my morning coffee in a little apartment that isn’t my own, and I watch the fluffy chunks descend. The tree branches are heavy with the stuff. I’m still not back in my home. It’s April tomorrow. That’s two whole months of being out after the flood.

In the last 48 hours I’ve had two more very clear signals that it’s time for me to pull up my own snowy blanket for a little while longer. The soil isn’t ready to yield anything wondrous or romantic just yet. I’ve decided to take April and be celibate. My friends all smirk when I tell them this. I know it won’t be hard, because I’m really tired.

I keep trying to plant in frozen soil.

On Sunday morning I had a Thai massage and Reiki treatment from a wonderful friend with incredible gifts. I learned that my giving hand is closed. I could feel how closed and resistant this hand was. As I set the intention to open it up, I burst into tears and there was a whole new flood to deal with.

My giving hand is closed. And yet, all this time I thought I’d been giving and giving. What can you give when you see the ground is frozen and yet try to plant something anyway? What have I actually been giving?

I’ve been giving my body, and some orgasmic energy and a few angsty lines of poetry. I’ve been tilling frozen earth because my closed giving hand knows that I wouldn’t know the first thing to do with fertile soil.

I am too afraid to actually give myself again. My beautiful gut keeps seeking people who I’ll never really get deep with. I couldn’t possibly get deep. I didn’t know this until I could feel it in my fingers. I can’t let go of how it felt to lose love. I’m not brave enough to risk feeling that way again.

And so, with so many clear messages from the universe, in what is perhaps the ultimate April Fool’s gesture, I’ve alerted any potential paramours; the thaw isn’t coming until May.

This heart chakra of mine needs some healing love. All the energy that my root chakra was dispatching is now on reserve. I’m going to set my intentions toward opening my giving hand.

An open hand is a useful thing, even if I’m too afraid to sow another seed.

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