I’m overjoyed to share this beautiful piece of writing from Zoe, one of our long-time Patreon members. Zoe shared this in our recent summer solstice Gathering Gold Zoom meeting, and I was so touched by it that I asked if she’d be willing to plant it in our community garden. You may remember Zoe as she graciously shared two poems with us a couple of years ago about relationship anxiety and fairness.
As a poetic and insightful HSP, Zoe speaks to the heart of our human experience, and in this piece reflects on how the transition of moving into a new house with her husband catapults her into the paradoxically precious and painful awareness of the passage of time.
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I hear siren number five and it’s only 10am. My nervous system was so attuned to the sounds of inner East London, silence had become just as overwhelming. But for anyone who lives there or passes through, its culture leaves you with a palpable fizziness, in the best way.
Saturated with Hackney life, my husband and I dismantled our old world to build another. Walking through our new house, I became acutely aware that this was the start of something. Anticipation turned concrete. I could see the excitement reflected in his endearingly frantic WhatsApps about bed frames and musings on ‘earthy tones’.
But with every beginning, there is an unavoidable end. Within these four walls, our love will grow and grow and grow until one of us leaves the physical realm. The sadness struck me far louder than any siren. ‘Have you booked your health check yet?’, I ask for the third time in a week combined with 11pm Google searches of ‘whole body MRI scans for £50 and under.’ No success yet, unsurprisingly.
We talk about the passage of time, and this house feels like an embodiment of that seemingly merciless aspect of the universe. But is it merciless? Could it be necessary, even generous? I was called to write on this in response to the below prompt from Victoria in our latest Summer Solstice meet-up:
“As the light begins its slow return toward darkness, what truth is life inviting you to hold that you’ve been trying to resolve instead of embrace? What paradox is asking for your friendship rather than your solution?”
What do I do when the lines around your eyes become deeper? When you turn the key to our front door slower, or one day, lose the key? That will be a strange day. When your frame becomes more frail, hourly requests to put the heating up. It feels like I’ve just learned how to love you, fearlessly, but now I have to learn to lose you, fearlessly. But perhaps they are the same?
This house will witness it all, from choosing tacky gold baubles for our first tree and gifting unhinged immersive experiences, to me or you, one not both, switching the fairy lights on and off each night, and gifting soft pillows for weary bones. That we have finite time is the real gift, but I don’t know how to let go of the idea we won’t be together for infinity. I tell myself we can be the exception, but I know that to truly love you means accepting losing you. This house will witness it all.
All I can say is: WOW. This hit the inside of my bones, my core wounds, my joyful imagination, and the depth of my soul. All of the places that feel like life. Zoe is incredibly talented and I’m
Honored she shared all of this with us.
YES to every word, Julie! 🥰
Most lovely Julie. Thank you so very much 🥹🤍✨
Gah, that was…powerful.
Hi,
This is interesting synchronicity talking about time, since just yesterday I happened to read a book of Seneca, who happened to live about 2000 years ago in ancient Rome. He wrote:
“It is not that we have a short time to live, but that we waste a lot of it. Life is long enough, and a sufficiently generous amount has been given to us for the highest achievements if it were all well invested.”
I love to read his ideas, they are so relevant even today.
About love…in everyday “busy” (often false busy) life, I hardly get any deeper thoughts. But recent holiday in Spain, I sat on the balcony, looked at the Mediterranean sea, and suddenly this thought popped into my mind: Love is the biggest risk on this planet AND the only reason we are here. I get this kind of deep wisdom maybe once a decade 😀
I mean the risk, losing loved ones has been the hardest thing, we never really know how long we can keep them and how long even we live…but I believe love is the reason we are here. Not just romantic love, but also family members, animals…
Thanks so much for sharing, Elina! I totally agree. I often feel that life isn’t actually short, rather it’s fragile. After all, a decade ago can feel like aeons! Then, exactly as you said, the realisation that love is a huge, albeit privileged, risk suddenly blindsides you, and makes the beauty of our relationships feel like nothing but a brief flash in the universe’s history. As vulnerability increases, our perception of ‘enough’ time seems to vanish; a reminder that learning to love and be loved, in all forms, is our life’s work. Love and light x
“It feels like I’ve just learned how to love you, fearlessly.”
That one hit me hard. I needed to read this. Thank you.
Ah I’m delighted it resonated, Christina…you’re so very welcome. Love and light x
“It feels like I’ve just learned how to love you, fearlessly, but now I have to learn to lose you, fearlessly. But perhaps they are the same?”
Zoe – this line pierced my heart. I feel it’s true for the people we love, and also for our relationship to life itself. We can spend so long finding life hard, only to realise with panic that we’re more than halfway through. But learning to love and learning to lose might well be the same thing. Thank you for your beautiful words and your unique blend of humour and pathos. Much much love to you,
Dearest Carly. Urg yes the oscillation between ‘finding life hard’ then ‘the panic we’re halfway through’. It gives me such whiplash! It’s funny how something so disorienting is so fundamental to human existence. Thank you for reading, I’m truly touched. Love always <3 x