(Cloud over Camano Island)At one time, for a period between 1991 ad 1998, I actually felt I lived somewhere. I had a relationship to a tiny square of land, a structure (house), and its many contents. My relationship to the world was grounded in my relationship to a house, a garden and, of course, a lover. I believed in "home." When that ended, I began shuffling places, people, interests, lovers and jobs, reinventing myself with every new arrangement of my many "selves." Always chasing some ethereal notion of "home."
I started out life in the desert, on an Indian reservation, where everybody knows exactly where home is, and most don't fall too far from the tree. Yet I have always fantasized the gypsy life. I wanted to wander, travel, see places, meet strangers, and learn for myself the size of this huge small world. I now live with a man who identifies as a nomad; a man who has lived significant portions of his life as wanderer and is preparing for another nomadic adventure. Having uprooted and moved from my job, my friends and my family several times, this round is nothing new. And yet everything is new!
While Steve figures out what he needs to keep, what to sell, what to give away, what to store, what to recycle, and what to do with the remainder of his mountains of stuff, I am able to support his efforts without having my own entanglements to ensnare and slow us down. While he makes his transitions, I am anchorless. Drifting. And perhaps even approaching that deep, beautiful place in the heart where one is unattached yet fully engaged. For Steve it is an attractive feature. For me, it is something that I have worked years preparing for... that fateful moment in which opportunity breezes up, and I bravely let go and step aboard my future. Transforming indeed.
How does it feel? No job security? No safety net? Am I afraid? Yes, I am afraid, but perhaps that is why I am doing it. I always sail straight toward my fears and right on through them to the freedom on the other side. Isn't that what freedom is? Not living our lives reacting to fear, but instead responding to love?
Perhaps the old cliche is true about home and heart. You know the one.
2 comments:
Beautiful post, m'dear!
" While he makes his transitions, I am anchorless. Drifting. And perhaps even approaching that deep, beautiful place in the heart where one is unattached yet fully engaged. For Steve it is an attractive feature. For me, it is something that I have worked years preparing for... that fateful moment in which opportunity breezes up, and I bravely let go and step aboard my future. Transforming indeed."
hear, hear!!!!
And you wrote: "Isn't that what freedom is? Not living our lives reacting to fear, but instead responding to love? "
Absolutely! When I first settled in NYC at age 19, and had what I call an early 1/4 life crisis, I had to confront my Catholic background in a way I never had before. I had to wrangle with this dialectic between God and The Devil. The Devil, at least in my book, *is* fear: the archetype for living in a state of contraction, coiled tightly around oneself to the point of blindness. Deep in my heart I knew God was love and freedom that God certainly didn't want me to live in fear. No, God wants us to live open and free in love and in full bloom. I dropped all notions of there being a "Devil out to get me" and began to live as much as I could in and from my heart. My heart then and there became my home, my anchor, and my place of trust. I no longer felt rootless, and haven't since. My heart remains my home to this day, transportable and constant as the rising and setting sun.
Oh, I could say this better and maybe I should, but really, you said it perfectly yourself. I just wanted to mirror it for you and give you a nod of assent and support!!!!
Thanks for the sweet comment and affirmation. You say it your way, I say it mine, others in their own ways, but alas we all know the truth.
I love the way you have with words. I am surely going to miss you!
XOXsky
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