Winter

Right now I am sitting at a desk that is mine, as much as any thing can belong to a person.  I expected this to feel so different than it does.  I expected it to feel foreign and unnatural, sacred and exhilarating, but instead it feels like something I have done thousands of times before, which I suppose it is.  The last time I set up a room was two and a half years ago in the mountains of Northern California.  But it’s all coming back so fast; I know exactly what I am supposed to do to turn this space into a creative sanctuary.  I need colors on these walls.  I need incense.  I’ve got candles, they burn now and spasm when the wind comes through the window.  Shak gave me her mattress before leaving town, which goes on the floor, and I make the bed with sheets Cristina brought me.  And the desk of course is the most important part of the room, my rock, my helm.  And now I’m sitting here in this empty room with empty walls inside an empty house.  I haven’t unpacked anything yet.  Really all I have are books and a few clothes and some gear.  Those are my only possessions.  Everything else that I will collect will not be mine, I’ll only be using or borrowing it and thus will remain free from the burden of owning things.  Signing the lease was almost boring.  It was not a climactic moment.  It was just a gesture on top of hours and days and weeks of contemplation and decision making.  And now here I am, in this place for nine months and in need of two roommates as soon as possible and a job to pay rent with.  And I’m here to learn and grow and seek as I always have, but I’m finally secure and confident enough in the journey that I don’t need to be in motion to continue it.  No, this is not about me settling down.  This is about pushing ever onwards.  At times, I needed empty spaces, so I wandered, drove, traveled, hitchhiked, to nowhere, to the plains, to the mountains, to the coasts, and I got hung up and stranded along the way, but I made it, my fingers are casting shadows from the candlelight as I write this, and other times I needed purpose and pilgrimage, so I went to Alaska or took the road to Inuvik, I needed companionship so I found souls to travel with, or I needed meditation, so I sought the sea, I went and found what I needed in each new moment, and this is nothing new, merely more of the same, now I know what I need, I need to write seriously, cultivate my craft, learn how to be part of society again, find community and all that comes along with it, I need to build practices, I need to write and read and learn and study and reflect on where I came from, I need to do all this and so much more, I need to take care of me, after living on the streets of so many cities, I need a place to call my own, I need to love people more deeply than I could through my transience, and I need to STOP, sometimes we need to take a breath and pause to realize we’ve been moving, I need to see clearly what is I have been doing, I need to understand what this has all really been about, and I need to prepare for where I am going, everything that is yet to come, still unknown to me, all this and more I came here to do, and I came here for reasons I don’t even know, I just followed what I felt and trusted it all so blindly, and it’s wild, I don’t know what is going to happen to me, but I will be here as the snow falls through the winter because I live in Boulder now.

I put in a load of laundry, lie down on the floor, and order pizza to my own house for the first time in something like 30 months.  Tonight I will let the candles burn out, take a bath, walk through the house naked, brew a cup of tea, pray, and then curl into fresh sheets and disappear from the world for a while.

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One Response to Winter

  1. Janna Wagner says:

    oh the suffering incurred by the stable life….. you know there are so many people that dream of having what you have. its all perspective. glad you got your desk. now for the task of actually writing upon it….. keep the blogs coming! its all part of the journey

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