I am seriously into HOME these days.  Glad to be here.  Ready to be here.  I’ve so often thought that I was happiest to be on the road, but I am learning, with so much more time spent on the road lately, that home is starting to feel pretty good.  Whoda thought?

I’m working on the home place, too.  I’ve nowhere to be and no money to be directly made for many weeks now, (excepting time for music and girlfriends and water water water in my future, and what fun that).  It’s summer now, no doubt about it, and it’s when I come into my own.  I wouldn’t have ever thought that, either, always feeling that fall was my season.  But summer transforms me, and so it is timely, again, when Transformation is so heavy in the air.  It smells pretty sweet though, not dangerous, just strong and pungent, like desert sage can be sometimes.  I am totally at peace with being here and making it a better place till the next place comes along, and what else can you do, anyway, except fight it and find misery.  I’ve been fairly accomplished at sticking my toe in the misery pond, and you just get fungus.  I prefer the clear, sparkling waters, and I am beyond grateful that we have a lake this year.  The drought got us last year.  No water in the cove, and not so pleasant to get to if you walked all the way to Big Water to get wet.  It was a strange and jolting summer, and it propelled me into another life.  One that is even now reaching out to new places, yet I am loving what I have of the old.

I wouldn’t say I’m 100% healed.  It still gets me now and then, but in a different way.  Or maybe even the same way, only now I just feel it and reckon with it, (Truth helps), then let it go and move on to whatever it is I’m doing.  Sort of like a ghost passing, and what do you say to a ghost, anyway?  And so that’s it:  If I’m not exactly healed, I’m different, and moving.  The moving is important, and sometimes a little hard on an old girl.  I keep chasing those experiences, yessiree, but sometimes they linger longer than they are welcome, in several different forms of physical gotchas, but it’s all been a good ride.  I think if you just keep doing and going and trying and believing, and moving and growing, that you’ll manage to have yourself a life, and I must be hellbent on having one.  I’ve worn myself down here and there, and home is feeling just fine, thank you.

In but a few more weeks I’ll be heading out again to the mountains of New Mexico in the dead of summer.  Tough duty, I know, and of course it’s work.  My favorite art show to do, (although West Texas is getting and giving some mighty good juju lately), and I always look forward to going to New Mexico.  I used to live there, around kindergarden and first grade times, and I wonder how my life would’ve been different had we stayed.  I was smitten West as soon as I really found out about it, and there I was, living smack dab in the middle of it way back then.  I can remember the snow storms in Albuquerque, the sand storms that would sweep in and you could see them coming for miles….and then have a long little sand pyramid on the sills of the windows from where it had sifted through.  I can remember riding horses out in the foothills of the mountains, and one of the horses shied when a rattlesnake was seen.  Pretty exciting stuff for a kid.

But no, I ended up in Dallas, and didn’t see the West again until I was 17, and my granddaddy took me all over the place for almost six weeks.  Lucky girl, and still stuck on boys, but I loved to go out and hike every night after we’d stopped to camp.  I’d head out down the trails, or make my own, until I heard the truck horn and then knew it was time to head back for dinner.  What a gift.  Not much has changed, really.  I still head out to hike every chance I get, and find ways to get to the back of beyond.  I still look for and find the mystery in a spider’s web or a bird nest hidden in the Agaritas, or love to be standing outside when a cool front actually blows in – the very moment when it makes itself known.  If we think about it, life really is all about Change, and acceptance of that makes the journey all that more tolerable, even exciting if we join in.  Digging our heals in doesn’t always help so much, but I suppose it depends on the battle we’re considering fighting at the time.  Not so easy to pontificate on those broad subjects, for all of our stories are so very different.  Or are they?

Astounding to think how long ago all that was, and yet I’m still here, still working on creating the life that I’ve felt I’ve just been missing all these years.  I’ve been chasing ghosts or things that you just really can’t grab onto, and in some cases that’s probably turned out to be a good thing.  Some of the things I got my hands on turned out to be not so friendly and healthy sometimes, and then you learn to let go sooner.  If you don’t let go soon enough, or aren’t wise enough to let that one go on by in the first place, you end up with bite marks or maybe a rash.  I think I’ll just be sitting that part out and observing for a while, with plenty to do while I’m figuring out what’s next.  Or mostly just dealing with NOW.  I’ve got plenty of Now to wade though before I get to what’s next, and what’s next IS Now.

I’ve been looking at the place with new and old eyes.  Sometimes I think I see the ghost, but not really.  Gone is gone.  And I need to consider and care for the good things that are left. I spent some time hanging out and puttering in the South Acre last night, where sits the Fire Circle and the work we did to make it magical.  It’s another one of those big Cicada years.  They are big, raspy sounding insects that make the damnedest noise at night.  They’ve been going at lately, in the trees just outside.  LOUD!  About eight or nine years ago we had a year like this, where there were so many of them, hoards of them, that under the tin roof of the Loafing Shed you had to shout to be heard above the din.  Really – it was amazing.  And wonderful.

It’s happening again.  The Cicadas have come back to life, and so have I.  And so, too, is the place as I begin to give it love and attention.  I can no longer envision it as some fairy tale dream into which my Prince Charming will somehow appear, (or stay), and love it as much as I do, but I do it for my own whim and pleasure and fancy, and as I would have it.  And that ain’t bad – except for the inordinate amount of work it involves and I come up more than a bit short in the muscle power to pull it all off.  I put it out to the Universe to come to my assistance in a pleasant way, but in the meantime, I do what I can, and let my imagination lead the way.  My special places are coming alive with spirit animals, shaped and placed to allow their personalities come alive in the wood.  I’m getting the dust off everything, letting it breathe again.  Letting it live again.  Letting it become, as I am myself.

All this renewed life, in the midst of the horror that is happening but a few hundreds of miles from here.  I can’t not acknowledge it, for it is a huge thing, the impact of which I think we cannot imagine, or don’t want to.  We have once again slashed the wrists of Mother Earth, and she is bleeding out in such a way that she destroys her own self, at our hands.  I am powerless, we are all powerless, and my sadness, and yes anger, wonders where to go and what to do.  I wonder that I can do anything except make my own place the best that it can be, and keep it so for as long as I can.  My place and my spirit, for the planet seems to be dying a little, or a lot, every day now.

On the way back from the art show earlier this week, the snakes were again on the road, but this time, they were dead.  I didn’t know what to make of that, still don’t, except thinking that they transitioned themselves from one reality right to another, as we all will, sooner or later.  No guarantees, that’s for sure, except that it’s a trip we’ve already bought the ticket for.  It’s when the ticket collector shows up that we face the music, and go to where they tell us it’s REALLY home.  It’s the Big Question, isn’t it?  And far be it for me to attempt some pithy comment about it all in this venue.

Right now, I’m just home where home is.  Home to the continuum.  Home to hope.  Home to despair.  Home to rest and work and regroup, and rebuild.  Transition.  It’s happening.  I hope I have a little better luck, or time, than those last snakes.  I swear I’m just not ready yet.  I’m not done.  I know I’m not done.


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