There is so much to learn. Out here I am surrounded by reminders of the learning I have to do. Learn where and when the morels and portabellas grow. Learn what plants are indigenous and which are taking over. Learn which direction North is, for goodness sake. I am being remade. I am being stubborn. I am curious, insatiable, excitable, and extremely weary of changing my schedule for undesired tasks. I am wobbling like a weeble. I promise myself not to fall down.
Rewild is a word that rushes through my head. A cold, clear creek running down the valley of Twanoh State Park. New words like skookum, snohomish; new species like golden eagles, salamanders, coyote packs howling some distance from my back door at night. I am aching to immerse myself in the nature of my unfamiliar home. I am annoyed by habits from my old city grounds, resting above me plainly.
Sunday was a day which I had all to myself, the first of its kind in months. I am a person needing of wide expanses to dance in, so finding my peace and calm center in the middle of a new, more populated life has been challenge enough. I'm proud of how well I've done. I'm proud of partner who values the same things I do and knows how to retreat when either of us needs it. But, Sunday, was a very good day.
I'm back to reading some of my old writing friends again, who, for reasons unknown got lost in the upswirl a few months ago. I read the stories of these writers hungrily from within my cubicle in Chicago less than a year ago. I remember vividly how I would try to stop the tears that would come after reading a particularly beautiful paragraph about receiving wild herbs from a hillside.
On Sunday I stood in a spot in my yard and faced uphill, to the North East. I was pleased looking in that direction, because I felt nestled among the big old firs that stand around it. My temporary studio dome will be built there and I wanted to begin getting a feel for it. I don't live in a city anymore. My pace is slowing down. My pace is beginning to resemble the breath I take when I am calmly sitting and not thinking.
I don't have answers this winter. I have feelings and questions. I have, honestly, fears. I have noticed myself justifying my actions. I have noticed how many assumptions I make. I want to wear veils a lot these days. I don't always want to meet other peoples eyes. I want quiet, I want strength, I want to flow where I am drawn to.
I'm spending a lot of time writing about what I want right now because what I don't want is to complain more. I don't want to focus on disagreeing with peoples' views of "The Real World" or what is, or is not, necessary. Here's something I learned the other day: if you're going to tell people a writer you must be prepared to be asked what you write.
I have a cold right now and it's made me pretty sleepy. I've wanted mostly to stay curled up reading Animal, Vegetable, Miracle - which I'm finding luxurious and intimate. I don't care about privilege anymore. Every human can only be so wide and some other humans are more narrow, it's not anyone's fault. I have choices to make about what I will allow to anger me, and other peoples' behavior is registering less and less. I seem to get mad about working at jobs that don't suit me more often than not. Mostly I get mad at myself. I keep asking for time to work on my healing. Sometimes I write it all out as a reminder of what I have and what I have to work harder for...sometimes I have to stop working and "let go and let god." I have been searching for the name(s) for what I believe in.
That's why I want to wear veils right now. I want them because they're ancestral. They're symbolic. They serve the purpose of shielding my eyes so I can remember more easily that I don't know what the answers are. I don't know what the names are for things or people, or even myself. Another important function is that they indicate to others, not me, that I am shielded and must not be approached carelessly. Where will I find my veils and how will I remember I have strength?