Cloud Cover

I turn around to look at the view, cloud cover then waves of green below. My new home. Nothing feels like home, nothing looks like home. This is the constant in all the change. I left a marriage the last time I lived here. Now I contemplate the same as I arrive. Makes it difficult to unpack. It's that uncomfortable. The whole thing is a tired, painful exercise.

Too tired......too blue.....too confused to write.

I should try to unpack it all in the writing. How I control and organize everything into the shape of a family and a life. And then I hate it because it's all......manufactured. Any intelligent person would drop the disappointment after the thousandth revolution of that wheel. Not me. It's the easiest, fastest sadness, more visceral that anything else.

If I was not attached to the desire 'to be met' by the man in my life, my marriage would be fine. It's good enough. Good man, good daily life. But it's a direct line, direct shot, to a much deeper wound, and that's the complication.....and the perfection. Truly, my chance at liberation exists right here, right now. I know it.....and yet....it gets worse because I watch myself fall so simply into despair. The condition of the environment - it gets to me every time.

And that's about me. In the scenario, this is always the conclusion. No matter what, the pain I choose to experience is mine and about me. Sometimes the insight is enough to generate a fire in my belly. I find my groove and feel better. I find myself again. Sometimes, the same awareness tips me into depression. The quiet, slowly isolating kind, where I forget my name and I forget how to find my way home. I lose my vision.

All the necessities are unpacked. In one small room upstairs three tall boxes remain taped shut: 1. Sacred Items, Fabrics, Icons 2. Prema's Writing Books 3. Spiritual books, Silks, Journals. I sit on the twin bed in the dark, tracing the shape of Tara's green gorgeousness, as she extends to the edge of the carved teak frame. So far, this is my favorite room.

River naps on the couch in the living room, arms outstretched, angel wings. She traverses the days by stating, "Mama, I a big girl!" when she wants to achieve a sense of independence. When the attempt falls short she hangs her head and comes to me. "Mama, I not a big girl...."

Isn't it so sweet and so heartbreaking.......all the becoming.

Two of my favorite plants sit in the garage, half dead. Grand and thriving at the other house, they didn't fare well in the move. The smaller plants made it but these grandmothers, towering beauties, show the impact of the journey. Like me. At the base, green goodness; furthest from the center, limbs are torn and brown.

Time to trim back what doesn't remain. Let the old life go. Make room for a new start to have a chance.