The awesome rumble of a thunderstorm sneaking up behind the house, clouds swiftly shifting from docile and puffy-white to ominous, and gray
I sit in my room in wonder at the strange beauty of this place-- and yet so poignantly how I feel it is not my place
Another rumble, and I realize in how many countless minds must that thought have crossed this is not my place -- 'tis a slaves cabin, after all; and before my family moved in, home to a depressed man who liked to shoot at the trees from the back porch.
How many places are there, like this whose fate it seems to be to shelter, protect, even nurture an array of suffering foreigners?
And within these lovely walls, the walls that I love as my home, I wonder, how much of that suffering is mine, and how much of it simply the state that this place has known, indeed what it may offer?
Been feeling a wee bit crowded in by the forest these days. All around me, life is exploding, reaching, stretching, overwhelming... creeping right up to my back door, with no apologies.
We finally made the decision to look for work elsewhere, and to move. Northward, methinks; perhaps Vermont, where the hills are so green, and the Granola-types, crunchy.
In the meantime, I'm doing what I can with my mind to get used to the idea of being in an in-between: not moving, but not not moving. Not enjoying, yet not not enjoying. Being directly indirect. Hedging my bets, playing the clamshell game with the present...and presently waiting.
Finally opening up the tightly-wound bag of emotions that I'd kept so close led to a cacophony of expression these last few weeks. It never ceases to amaze me how we can think we've got handle on something, but our body has other ideas.
Oftentimes, it's got nothing to do with our thinking at all; there is brain tissue and heart tissue all over our bodies, storing memories, feelings and responses where the intellect don't shine. How do we relate to life, then, when it's so rich, so beyond rationale?
Me? I'm learning to ride with it, and not let it ride me too much.
And eating as many gorgeous summer fruits as the earth can offer...
And feeling grateful for those cooling breezes that waft in from time to time.
July time, and in the sweltering heat, just-in-time refreshing breezes and impromptu summer rains, I'm thinking of growth and the nearing abundance of Lughnasadh...
...we're going through more twists and turns than I can mention here, but it is certainly rich and ripe times, just like our garden, which has-- in its sustaining of us and its blossoming-- become something like a family member.
So many shifts, so many roads. I am excited and worried at the same time. My changing inner weather seems a good fit for what is echoed all around me...
Oisin G'Dea's mama, wife of an Ruaphok Gaiscíoch; lover of the creative life, nomadship and stewardship; zen priest, gardener, artist, writer, herb-crafter, counselor and dreamer... I've lived in the inspiring high-desert, mountain-punctuated New Mexico & Colorado ~ misty redwood-coated coastlines of Northern California ~ strangely elegant riversides in Southern Maryland ~ snowy, busy Greater Boston ~ lovely and welcoming Hilltown Massachussetts.