Asking for More in 22
Once is never enough
As I sit at my tiny dining table with a glass of wine in my hand and thoughts swirling in my mind, I reflect on 21, now bidding adieu with a sly smile on its face, fondly recalling how it teased and tormented so many of us, keeping that thing we wanted just out of reach — that thing being anything. There is no definition of this thing.
I could hardly think of one or two things that I wanted 21 to bring, but now I can sit and recall the triumphs and trials as they came; the times when a shooting star was just another signal from the Universe, telling me that everything was always working out for me, and then contrasted with the rasping, biting and clawing of the dungeons creatures — that thing, again, that we lock away in the dark recesses of our subconscious that every now and again rears its one or seven heads, breathing fire and threatening to burn to a cinder all of our hope and prayers and dreams, dreams so magnificent that it would take a few Universes to hold them.
I sip, once, twice, red wine. I look at the liquid swirling in a glass given to me at launch I attended for the opening of a center for abused women and girls, probably the first in my country.
I feel gratitude, being fanned by a flame of more, more in 22.
More moments to be happy, more moments to be sad or reflective, introspective.
More occasions to give and receive.
More swipes of pain, sharp and unexpected but equally balanced with pleasure.
More times to love and to feel the expansion that our loving someone creates.
More, give me more!
I. Trudie Palmer
One Love
