Love is not work. Do not camouflage it.

What do you want to let go of today? This was a prompt in a writing circle I facilitated at Ochre Sky Stories, where we read the poem, “In Blackwater Woods” by Mary Oliver
and responded to these lines from the poem:

To live in this world

you must be able
to do three things:
to love what is mortal;
to hold it

against your bones knowing
your own life depends on it;
and, when the time comes to let it
go,
to let it go.

What do I want to let go of today, I wrote in my notebook.

The fear of being in love. Of showing love. Of doing things simply because I love to do them with strangers whose life I can touch with love.

Love is not work. Do not feel compelled to professionalise what comes to you as a loving instinct. A love for stories, for connections. Love for trees, grass, cats and dosas. Of a spring in my step as I walk towards my class at University. Of my slow walk back, coming down 4 floors of stairs instead of taking the lift, as the warm, red flush in my body regulates back to moderate levels, and silence begins to restore in my bones.

Love is not work. Do not camouflage it. Show up in new rooms. Looking foolish and unsure, but definitely in love.

Let it go. Let it go. Let shame and doubt be the twin friends who can stay next to you, teaming up and occassionally creating too much ruckus for you to think straight. They probably mean well and happen to be tone-deaf. They are overstaying guests. Make space for them, distract them with toys and tea. They can do their own thing, while you do yours.

Let awkward pauses be your style. Let it be, let it go, embrace yourself. You are a good cat, my babe.