Time to fly away…

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The moment I have been waiting for is too close now. The last kiss…I love you… Then leap and hold my breath until my feet touch the ground again. This is not the time to think. Just move. And don’t stop until the dust settles and daddy’s home.

El Techo

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Demolition of my old life is in it’s final phase. With six days left here in the states, I woke up to a team of roofers tearing our roof off. The irony here is deep.

It would be easy to be grumpy about this loud and dirty interruption of our last few days here. But then I would miss the perfection, the reflection and endless strength and confirmation offered up in the pandemonium.

All of the roofers are Mexican. Along with the all consuming symphony of banging, tearing and stomping just above my head, is the cacophony of men yelling to each other in Spanish. This is important because it is the same stream of sound that woke me from my peaceful slumber the day I met V. I laid in bed listening for a while before opening the window shade, and there he was. Right outside my window, standing on a ladder. I knew the moment I saw him….

That was six years ago.

This morning our three small children are running around like wild beasts in our empty house while the roof is being ripped off. It’s loud. It’s echoing. They are violently tearing the lid off, the last of anything hanging on is being shredded right now.

I feel a rushing wind at my back. The strings tying my feet to the ground have been clipped and I am floating. It feels like that moment in labor when your water breaks. The ultimate sense of relief. You know you’re about to meet your baby and nothing can stop it now.

Astrologically speaking, this is a very important time of endings and beginnings. Things that began in 2008 are in the final stage of completion right now. 2008 is the year that I gave away all of my possessions, packed my Subaru and drove to Mexico. Back then, I had no idea what I was doing, no money and no plan. Now I have all of those things…

THIS is what I was hoping to find then. THIS is what I wrote in the sand. The guys on my roof are helping me see the circle.

They are blasting Mexican music as they take their sawzalls and pry bars to anything that’s stubborn or stuck. This is the soundtrack of my upheaval. The destruction has become hilarious.

The Final Seven

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The last days. I don’t know what I thought it would be like, but it is so much more.

Imagine yourself, in the routine of your daily life, then strip it all away. Take out most of your possessions and your excesses. Your comforts and distractions. Your furniture, your cookware, your dishes. Give away your TV, your sofa, your books. Stop any projects, drop your hobbies, create nothing. Take away your vehicle, someone else will run your errands now…

So here you are. Your walls are bare. Your cupboards are empty and you cannot go anywhere. Yet life continues. Make coffee in the morning. You feed your family and wash laundry… Only now you’re stacking it into a suitcase. Something monumental is about to happen, yet daily life ticks on as if nothing were coming at all.

Nervous excitement fills the air. Electric. Like wild animals before an earthquake, we pace and shift and lash out. There is no buffer. No padding. Nothing to distract from what’s been coming for years…

I am extremely uncomfortable.

Before this, I thought that the things were the problem. If only we could get rid of all of this excess. The meaningless piles consumerism that were cluttering up our lives. While letting go and clearing space is cathartic in itself, eventually you are left with something you cannot get rid of. Yourself. Suddenly the raw, inner core is revealed, and you realize that it was never really about the stuff…

What the fuck is it that I am looking for? What do I need to feel clear? How do I shed these layers of self? I don’t want to carry them into the next life…

It’s easy to find enlightenment in an ashram. Peaceful and austere. Or to hear the voice of God, alone on the hill, with nothing but a blanket. The Buddhist monk, the tai chi master, the zen gardener… They have removed themselves from the chaos of daily living in order to entrain the mind.

It’s all in the mind. Your space can be clear but if the mind is cluttered, you will never be content.

Now that my space is clear, the clutter in my mind is even louder. And I am not in a forest. I am not at a yoga retreat in Bali. I am smack dab in the middle of my real life. Screaming kids, maple syrup and chicken feathers. The constant need with no down time or space to follow my own breath. The mundane, the chaos, the postpartum hormone flux. This is real. If I can find my center here, even for a moment… Bless.

There is no life preserver. The waves are pulling the ship out fast and I am in the waters of my own creation. The Hopi elders warn against trying to hold on to the shore… It will rip you apart. They say let the water carry you. And look around… See who’s in there with you.

There is no room here for hesitation. The door I have been calling to is finally wide open. It’s time to cross the threshold.

Noche

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Nearing slumber it drifted through. A thought, a wisp of smoke rising from the fire, almost unnoticed…

Without this deep and constant longing for a space and time just beyond reach, how will I live? What will replace the desperate desire to jump off and run into the next life? Will the creation be enough?

This is the thought that stole my sleep.

I have just barely arrived at the doorstep of a reality woven from my own heart strings. I have yet to cross the threshold and take my first breath… And I am pacing back and forth in my mind examining the equilibrium of my design. It’s like packing your first parachute. Will it really be enough to hold you?

You never know until you leap.

I hope I don’t get lost in the chaos before the path is worn. A guest in an unfamiliar routine that has settled in around many more years than I have seen. Still a long way until my own unfolding…

Just know there will be plenty.

Plenty to wrap my head around. Enough magic in the landscape to fuel eternal fires. Creative expression will take on a new hue in the sun drenched valley full of dreams, while years worth of waiting unravel in the evening light.

We are seeds newly planted. And it is morning.

A letter to my Mexican

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I am writing this letter even though I know you will never read it. You would not understand the depth of feeling or the far reaching understanding within these words. You prefer to keep it all hidden away where you won’t get swept up in the undertow… Silent sentinel finding your way behind the safety of your statuesque strength.

I am ready to admit that I have been going about this all wrong. Asking you question after question about a place you have not been in ten years. Assuming that just because it is your home, your country, that you are still familiar. But the truth is that a lot has changed since you were there. Everything has grown up, aged, forever changed by the endless caress of time… Including you. And finally I am deeply, painfully aware of the fear you must secretly feel returning to a place that once was yours but somehow slipped through your fingers… Ten years is a long time and it happened when you weren’t looking.

So now upon the dawn of your homecoming, you must plan for something much bigger. You were one when you left and now you are six. That’s a lot of growing feet and empty bellies that you need to think about. How many sheep? How many avocados? Where will the money come from when the seasons pass and we are all still there. Rural Mexico is not exactly the land of opportunity if you’re looking for a paycheck. You are walking away from the safety net and everyone is watching, waiting to see what happens. That’s a lot of pressure.

You, like me, are stepping in to the unknown. Sometimes I mistake your silence for ambivalence. My unanswered questions for uncaring. I never realized that you may not have all the answers. And that maybe you are just as scared as I am.

It is not important that you ever acknowledge or understand how I see things now. Only that my perspective is inexplicably changed. I will stop asking you to explain or defend your process. I will let the answers unfold and let go of my impossible desire to control what I cannot. Moving forward with clarity and trust. Until the next life…..