We are here, now. In accepting, embracing even, our place, creates home. Yet, we are also not content. We are constrained like the partially thriving plants of my container garden. We can grow here, yes. We do. We have. We also have dreams, and there is something within us that knows what is true, what is possible and it stretches toward that like a seed in the dark. We have searched and we have not found. So we are sending out our smoke signals, putting notes in bottles and tossing them to sea, tying wee scrolls on the legs of birds, whispering to the wind our desire.
We have also put an ad on craigslist. Pass it on.
Today is very Wednesday-ish and I am in the midst of 8 million things. In mid process, I can only report back on the immediate. Much of that immediacy is quite brilliant though, so I offer some of the strands currently in the loom. Let’s weave them together.
This past weekend, I was delighted to find a package stuffed to the brim with anticipation awaiting me at the door. All the way from Avalon, filled with thought and love and care from Princess Milla. She’s been a busy bee nurturing her friends from afar, no small feat since I know she is courageously on a healing journey of her own. Sweet, wise, warm friend…thank you.
I could almost hear the chuckles when I opened this jar of sourdough starter. Last year there were many unsuccessful attempts to make a starter and then even more baking failures. I had assumed it was the starter itself, so when I woke up Milla’s dough with food and water, and witnessed its enthusiastic response, I thought we were in business.
But then it took two days for the two rising cycles and despite following directions to the T, at the end of it all, it still turned into a brick.
WTF sourdough?!? What. The. F**k. Help me friends, what am I doing?
But never mind that! Look at what else!
Frocks! For mama and Fern.
Plant medicine from the majestic nettle. (Seriously girl, how freaking adorable are you? Look at that stamp.)
From one lover of secret locks to another, she wonders what these ornate keys could be for. Luckily, she also included a magical steampunk compass, that only works when it wants to….which will be when I am in the Right Place at the Right Time, with secret locks to which I hold the key.
Books that give me the sense that I Am Known. I have started Gary Snyder and am blown away that we are meeting just now. His first essay takes place in the Shasta Bioregion, my home, my known place. “Rich in acorn, deer, salmon and flicker feathers…”. Oh land that I love so well, how is it that I can’t go back to you? Will there be a second bonding in a new place? A mid-life rebirth, a hearth that will be first love for my daughter?
We look for it, and find re-memberance every day. We collect rocks, stick, stones in our longing for them under our feet.
Hat and shirt from the package of love. Ready for a walk in Buena Vista Park.
“The heart of a place is the home, and the heart of the home is the hearth. All tentative explorations go outward from there…”
Radish spring greens are up.
“You hear histories of the people who are your neighbors and tales involving rocks, streams, mountains, and trees that are all within your sight…The childhood landscape is learned on foot, and a map is inscribed in the mind–trails and pathways and groves—the mean dog, the cranky old man’s house, the pasture with a bull in it–going out wider and farther.”
“Practically speaking, a life that is vowed to simplicity, appropriate boldness, good humor, gratitude, unstinting work and play, and lots of walking brings us close to the actually existing world and its wholeness.”
“A contemporary Haida elder was asked by a young woman anthropologist (who was impressed by her coherence, presence, and dignity), ‘What can I do for self respect?’. And the elder replied,
‘Dress up and stay home.’
The home, of course, is as large as you make it.”
(Randomly spotted on a bench in the park. Hello Universe, I see what you did there.)