Under the Spell, A Letter to a Friend

hello marybeth,

just reaching out to say hi and how are you?

i, my friend, have fallen under the spell of feeling like a bird in a cage. i understand the full spectrum of human emotions. i understand the hows and never the whys. although i’ve got a full tool belt of practices and ways of being generous during these times, this one is taking way too long. my heart is sinking, my visions are blurring, and i took my tool belt off because i’m tired.

nothing, per se, happened or is “wrong,” but i am not a soul that fits into things. i need large expanses and room to imagine; but i feel trapped in a small human existence which is simply not my nature. i’ve never been a 9 to 5 person who can be consistent, not because i am ill-equipped but simply because my constellation and constitution means in order for me to keep breathing i need the full landscape, the bigger picture and hope through living wisdom and inspiration, with large doses of imagination and intuition.

and, at this moment, my dear friend, i am a sitting duck. i am a sad songbird not singing. i am a large flying bird with clipped wings, and i am an artist without a canvas and an inward weathered white maiden swooning in a rabbit hole. i am the first to take up a challenge, see through the fog, tap the tip of my quill and write my experiences; and yet, this is the first time, writing to you, i’ve found some scrabble tiles to line up making sense of words. thank you, my friend. whatever we share on that other level, in that place i dwell with ease, with more tentativeness on this side, allows me to find my words, today, when i write to you. because somewhere in my soul, i believe you understand. why do i feel that? heaven only knows. as you said once in your message to me. i don’t even know you jillian, now, and yet i ask what is now and then and further out. has it been 20 years or 30?

i want to run out of the house and my life and not look back. i want a renovated school bus full of simplicity, artistic beauty, and light driving down the road as an ageless hippie chick, bohemian beauty and endless seeker. i want to ride my bike, long distance as if i’m fit and tireless and part of some other well-trained team that rides and rides and rides on. i want to live on a house boat in paris and wake up to walk to the patisserie each morning to buy my tea and croissant, write in my journal (as if i could ever have one piece of paper or book to write in, my greatest struggle, containing all that i am, all that i feel, all that i see), i want to grow pots of beautiful coloured geraniums and climbing roses and have people come for tea to have conversations about life and love and living and art and music.

i want my singing voice back, lost to stress, because i want to sing my songs sweetly and in harmony and in a group of people who want to sing and dance and be happy. i want to dance and dance and dance my heart out, tired and sweaty and content. i want to have a reason on earth to exist in my disposition…not because we all have the right and responsibility to be and become, but because people beyond my small home love to hear me, or see me. not out of egotism, but out of wondering how i ever in this world feel like i belong as i soar in the heights without a sign saying welcome to the world of sweet sophia, or venus sophia, or labelle sophie or RoseMary or environments of tender accompanyment.


my words make perfect sense to me. and yet in circles i no longer frequent, i was judged and told i’m out of time, too far into the future and i cried at the audacity of saying i didn’t exist. but i digress. dear marybeth, i could write and simply say depression has a good strong hold on me. i could say it has its arm around my shoulder guiding me or i could say it is so heavy i feel unable to move. all of it, everything has its place and reasons yet in the end, whatever the reasons for all of it, isn’t really the point. the point is the growing tip of each one of us. how is it doing? how is it unfolding into its next state of existence? when will it bloom and when the blooming is over what does it mean to form a seed when you want to bloom some more and what pray tell does it mean when the seed falls and lies in wait in the soil for another incarnation into a rose?

those, my marybeth, are my questions and comments and wanderings this morning…and i wonder why i’m feeling disconnected to the world and my human-ness?

so, i will send this to you hoping your day is unfolding in lovely ways….of course, there are stories to my days, but my soul is singing in the stars today, as we move into the constellation of gemini on this 22nd of may….my constellation that allows me to ride my bicycle on the threshold of this and that, there and here, with only a change of air at the border between. my bicycle with a basket full of roses, white cotton dress, short, yet flowy with soft shoes. pondering how in the world of diverse air and light and warmth i find a continued existence amidst a time of great conflicting points of view and perception.

Thank you for being the friend i look to to tell my “unreal” story of living in this body called Jillian RoseMary LaBelle Sophie today. Thank you for listening.

In my world, I see us, whoever us is, traveling through space and time and nature, holding open the living spaces to ground ourselves, in that which is so much greater than any one us. It’s past longing, it’s just a sight i perpetually see, doves and swans flying, hippie chicks and souls of sophia traveling in a swoon of delight and laughter and twinkles in their eyes, white, weathered and worn smooth through time and emotions that have softened all the sharp edges into harmony.


written by Jillian RoseMary LaBelle Sophie

photographers unknown

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