words are foreplay for the soul
December 30th, 2008

Still here

So yes, I moved.  I packed up my car with all my stuff, reported in with Canada (bye! don’t let the door hit you on the way out!) and moved in.

So did the snow.

Then I was snowed in. Because of the snow. And the steep steep hill.  And an appalling dearth of snowplows. It was sort of peaceful until the propane tank ran dry. And then it got cold.

But there was this weird sense of denial that I had, of enjoyment of the fact that I had little and was making due with A Chair and A Bed and a package of rice cakes and some butter. It was a new experience, much like my transient homelessness last summer.

It was quiet, too. There’s a lot to hear in quietness.  So I listened.  Am still listening.

Two more days until the new year. Another beginning, and and ending. More change is ahead. We’re all thinking about the symbolism of change now as we move from one year to the next. I have no idea where I’ll be, not in any sense of the word, a year from now. Most years I can see ahead down the path somewhat. This one? Not at all.

September 18th, 2008


I just received an email about a spiritual conference near San Francisco that months ago I promised to attend.  I wanted to be one of the presenters for the conference but they already had a full slate, so I contented myself with agreeing to attend for nearly-free and volunteering to help out.  There are a number of networking opportunities there, and I am a firm believer that nothing is ever wasted (even though I am a champion self-time-waster).

Then it hit me.

To get there, I will have to leave Canada.  Cross the border.  Enter the real world.

I’ve been using this feeling of semi-unreality as a way to remain safe.  It’s like living behind glass.  A world-within-a-world.  Time here stands still, while outside it [presumably] continues.  I like it here despite how disorienting it was when I got here.  It’s so much a different world.  Everything that connected me to my old world is gone, sold, given away, or in the few remaining boxes that traveled 4000 miles with me and got immediately stashed in a closet when I got here, still packed.  In the place of all those things and all the memories along with them that connect me to the life I used to live and to the people who lived it with me are new things.  New clothes.  New hair.  A new look.  A new focus.  A new rhythm.  New energy, new routines, new people.  It truly is a different world.  Nothing is the same, except for me.  And even I have changed, now a reflection of the newness I stepped into here across the border and all that came before to get me here.

I’m a little afraid to leave.  I have found things here to hold onto.  Crossing the border means crossing back into that old world.  The feeling of surreality I have been living, one lengthy vacation from reality, will be shattered.

There’s no answer to this, beyond breathing.  Continuing to breathe when you are immersed in slight panic is about all you can ever do.

September 17th, 2008


It’s an incredibly freeing thought, realizing that I have the power and opportunity right now to be anyone I want to. So much of my past was spent in being who I thought I had to be.

With the sky as the limit, who am I now?  And doesn’t defining that become yet a new limit?  Certainly changing my hair style, wardrobe, and removing a longstanding facial piercing (GASP!) are all part of the new picture I’m creating, but how much a part does the outside play on affecting the inside?  Or … is it the other way around?  My new inside is now unavoidably manifesting as a new outside.

I don’t know yet exactly where all this is heading, but change ALWAYS feels good to me, at least when it feels like I am the one creating that change.  And if a pair of black suede boots feels like change, so be it.