a year and a day.

A year and a day ago, I thought I was ready to emerge from my silence. But life had other plans for me:  new challenges and opportunities arose, and I chose to address them without recourse to the virtual world. And so the silence endured. But now I am back, and longing to share with you many tales, dreams, and goals, from that summer onward— when I say 'stay tuned', this time I mean it! :)

walking the path in Pienza.

xo, Stella

benedetta primavera.

It is officially a few days into spring, and it certainly is showing! I am reminded of what a difference a couple of months can make, even in Venice, albeit subtly... distinctions between the seasons are naturally blurred in the island city, due to its relative lack of foliage. When living there a few years ago, I recall longing for the autumn colors of my youth in New England; here a browning sycamore murmured of winter's coming, there an ivy-clad wall erupted in a fleeting blaze of red. Then greyness, fog, and acqua alta set in, followed by the radiant, piercing light of December. The early months of the new year were intermittently veiled in mist, which gradually dissipated. And somehow the arrival of spring, with its unexpected blossoms, was more startlingly apparent. Take this courtyard for instance:

in febbraio..

... e poi in aprile!

I remember doing a distinct double-take when passing this courtyard again in April; the violet overflowing of wisteria and the yellow blooms on the well heralded the blessed commencement of springtime. In the meantime, much had changed in my life: I had let go of a complicated relationship, moved out of an unproductive living situation and into a new apartment on my own, and shared a portion of my Italian life with my father, who came to visit me for the first time. Everything was once again fertile, flowering, alive– within and without.

Who knows what will blossom this spring!

all is new!

Here's to 2010: may it be a year of love, light, and blessings.

This year my greatest project is to finally get in shape, and maintain it. Once my body is a fit channel, all other aspects of myself will function better as well, emotional, mental, spiritual. I want to truly be in my body, for it is the temple of the living God. I must honor it!

I will also meditate daily, to continually re-center myself upon that which is most important to me. This will be a year of striving to live my ideals every day. I must set the pattern now for the direction in which I want my life to move in the future, and I feel that great and marvelous things await me along my path: I must trust in the abundance of the universe, and honor the divinity within me.

I will practice emotional alchemy, transforming negative emotions into positive ones. The time has come to let go of all past sorrows; they have taught me beautiful lessons, and I am grateful for all that I have learned. I acknowledge that I needed to work through them in order to arrive in the place in which I stand today. But I must continue to move forward. I can no longer allow myself to rub salt in these old wounds, for they must finally heal. This is my true desire: to move towards wholeness through forgiveness and compassion, for others and myself.


With every day and the wonder, beauty, and challenge that it presents, I hope to grow in grace into the woman that I want to be.

primavera.

Outside a blanket of snow covers the chilled earth. And yet, this morning, I was greeted by the chirping of birds outside my window. I drew back the curtains and observed. Two cardinals perched upon a long branch in the fir tree; chickadees dashed about in circles, finally landing on the yew hedge below. They sang to me, "even in the midst of winter, spring will come again." It is not as far off as I make it out to be. The ice will thaw, as I will let go. It is inevitable. And thus I must stop fighting the flow of nature. I have witnessed the winter of my grief in ebbs and flows of peace and pain, and though the snow lingers still, this, too, shall pass.

Now, I am ready. Ready to let go. To let go of the fear, and to fly. To leap from my branch in a brilliant flash of red and to call out to the past, "we will meet again, but then I will be changed." And not merely that: all will be changed. I will be a new person, and this will be a new earth upon which we walk. Well-trodden streets will curve into new alleyways, and familiar sunsets will take on a new light. A light that will reflect in my eyes for years to come, when these tears have long passed.

I am ready.