It’s the winter solstice, the time of the nadir. It’s a time, when, if you dare, you can mine the depths of your soul for the numinous vein that runs so deep under only the bravest hearts risk the bottomless depths to take this divine treasure home.
I’m no stranger to depth mining precipitous dark chaos. My father died one New Year’s Eve from a catastrophic stroke while I was hosting a party. I got the death phone call, and in valiant hostess fashion, continued to entertain my guests. Only when the last person had left, did I collapse into my bed in a sobbing heap.
Last year, the winter solstice heralded another blow.
My children’s father, my former husband of 17 years, collapsed in a Starbucks and then descended into a coma. He’d thought he’d had the flu after a return trip from Africa. Turned out he had a severe case…
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