I called him because I had to get out. It was a beautiful Sunday morning. Spring is in people's blood. The 2.9 million people in Chicago give little credit to the connection to the earth. Spring and summer get the lion's share of credit and adoration. Winter is the red-headed step child to the people here. I left my dishes in the sink, my outdoor gear in the back of the car, and my thoughts balled up internally. I had to keep all of the important stuff quiet. I don't want my secret plans to leak out. My demons and I still battle. I'm lucky to have nice demons that are all about seeking a higher plane of living. I have not had the misfortune of having too many demons set upon me by outside forces.
Jewish people are superstitious of proclaiming good luck aloud, but I am a gypsy child of all religions and so I will acknowledge gratefully that I am a blessed child.
I was proud of myself for not slumping. The energy I'd sucked from the bright stars and seeing Mars in the sky again was still with me. My toes were still warm and I was still rubbing out blockages in my belly counter-clockwise. I wiggled in my skin happily as I could. I told him we needed an outside play date. I would accept the Forest preserves and allow the wood chip trails to suffice.
The rain that washed freshness over the concrete kept us away from the muddied and crowded trails after all. We went to the lake shore and hopped on rocks. I did daring-looking things on a break wall to test his reactions. I must know who I want on my team when the time to fight and flee comes. He needs work.
I told him very little of my brief escape from the metropolis the day before. I proudly proclaimed, to the world at large, that I had gotten to see sunset, star rise, moon rise and sun rise all in one period of awake-ness. It helped me find my own rotation again.
After I met the fascinating teacher friend she listened, and knew I needed urging. "Get out of there, Shana." I will I assured myself. I said it aloud, "I will." I know I'm waiting and I think there's a purpose to it, but that purpose has not become very clear to me, yet.
Perhaps, when my throat no longer constricts with desperate yearning I'll know. When I think of going out to go home again and think it with a throat full of a courageous cry of determination I will know I'm ready to go. I'm preparing. After all, one does not become an herbal witch, a world-wide story teller, a traveling gypsy dream in just a few months. My memory has lost so much know-how and it will take much experience to help remember again. I will work and be patient. "I will work harder" has been my Chicago mantra since I read The Jungle upon arrival. I will work.
We watched a documentary about riots and free speech fighters in Chicago '68, and after, I asked him what he wanted to do when things like that got him all riled up. I had to spend the rest of the night arguing powerfully that the power lay not in The Organization (no matter who started it) but in the Individual. He told me I was self centered. How can anyone be anything but? Did Mother Theresa go help all the starving poor in India because someone outside herself told her to? The more we understand our Selves and the more credit we give that self to know what is best for all good, the better I think we must all be.
Perhaps, if the shrink were to tell me that I'm ship lost at sea again I could tell him that I'm not lost; I'm just Powerfully Turned Around.