I breathe in the 50 year old, uncertain and weary woman after a long day of too many decisions and too many emotions that are forever too many, too much and too often.  I imagined the second half of my life being easier than the first.  This has not in anyway proven to be true.  I am grateful for the wisdom of my years but mourn the the loss of my innocence.  I am not yet convinced it has been a fair trade.

It seems the older I get the more there is at stake, as I do not have the benefit of time to reconstruct my life when it is destructed.  In recent years there has been more destruction than construction.  At times I am full of fire and passion, and other times I am just weary.  I fear growing old and loosing passion altogether.  The enthusiasm of my youth has faded.  I need more inspiration than what I used to need, and my present life situation is just not providing it.  I know this too shall pass, but my impatience has got the best of me today and my intolerance of mediocrity is peaking beyond my normal, acceptable level.

I breathe out a rose petal lined path to a claw-foot bathtub, surrounded by candlelight and the scent of jasmine filling the room.  I imagine myself submerged in soothing hot water, while soft bubbles caress my skin, as the sound of a breathy saxophone, the snare of a soft drum and the raspy voice of blues singer serenade me into a  more sensual world.  And the icing on the cake is a loving partner pouring me a deep, rich, aged Cabernet and then joining me.  

I have no words of insight tonight, no spiritual discourse, no words of wisdom.  I am full of longing, longing to be peaceful, to be fulfilled, to be loved.  I am still quite a creature, and I am unashamed.