Cocooning, is one word for it. Seems to fit. As expected, my ankle is somewhat sprained and not up to any sudden moves. The rest of me hurts too--pretty much all of the right half of me--but nothing broken. Good enough.
I didn't get dressed. I'm in pajamas and a soft support boot and spent much of the day reclined on a heating pad sculpting really tiny poppet creatures. I've been making these little fellows for a few days. I can sculpt them in my cocoon of sofa and movies, with Spencer taking care of things,bringing me food (thank you) and, after school, Orion and a game of checkers.
The poppet sprites don't take up much room. They require the smallest of tools. More than that, they let me take a break from me, from the sort of art that tears at me, from aches and pains, inside and out. These little creatures are all light and sweetness, (with a soft poppetty center. )I knew them when I played on summer afternoons in the dark, cool space under my grandmother's bed. When colors were of a different palette, because the the past was a glimpse, the future was unimaginable,this moment was everything and magic was anywhere I looked for it.
I can go there, very nearly, for moments. It's very, very costly. If you know. You know. So I don't, often. But I can pull in my antennae and step just to the side of things. Focus on just today and just being okay. Everything else can wait a day. This day. Quiet is good.
Tonight, we followed the troupe deep into Mirkwood and over that awful black stream. When it was my turn to read, Orion traced the stars on the wall by his bed with his fingertips. He sees those stars, his room, his world in his other-light, which even now is changing. When we finished, our brave fellows had escaped the giant spiders and the dwarves were learning about the ring.Fantasy is good for this soul, for sure. Good medicine.