Skinless

Usually, autumn is my favorite time of year. To me, the foliage represents change; the wind symbolizes movement; the chill in the air is allows me to contemplate the cycle of life (and death). The harvest moon serves as a reminder of how enormous the universe is, making me feel small yet connected to my surroundings.

Earlier years, stretching way back to when I was a child, all these impressions invigorated me, made me feel ALIVE. This year, I find myself FEELING so incredibly much; it's as though the skin that usually shrouds and protects me has been lifted, intensifying my experience of it all. Everything seems to have a heightened potential to giving me sort of adrenaline rush, which can be stimulating when doing something I truly enjoy. On the other hand, I become hypersensitive, like a cat on a hot tin roof, and the slightest fallback leaves me emotionally bruised and battered. I feel so vulnerable. I feel the need to get out, the need to breathe, and at the same time, I'm not certain I can take it all in.

My only sanctuary comes from my husband's and children's hugs. Although when I went for a walk this morning I was elated to have two people, whose paths I crossed, greet me before I even had a chance to say, "Good morning." Still it is the the experience of human touch, the transfer of body heat, and the strength of a loving embrace, that acts as a veil to my bare and fragile soul, offering me the security blanket I need right now.