I am Joan of Arc, sometimes.
I am Joan of Arc, among other women. On those heroic Joan days, I ride brazenly, faith in hand and love in pocket, unswervingly confident that everything is light, guided, deliberate and engaged.
There are other days when it is easy to stumble on the laces of ‘realism’ and feel entangled in life’s tediously tiny, irksome trip-me-ups. On those days, it’s all a bit less Joan-y, trudging through the muddy valley rather than quietly looking down from Cloud’s Rest.
What we need is one megalithic eye that sees the trite day to day and contextualises it within a larger more compelling narrative. An ‘I’ that looks back with forgiveness, however painful the past. An ‘I’ that moves courageously forwards, however terrifying the future appears. An ‘I’ that creates and acts from this baggageless immediate moment: kindly and from the heart.