Hello again - 3/1/22

Well hello.  It’s been a bit.

I’m back and ready to pick up where we left off.

Well sort of.  A few things have changed since I last posted.

After leaving Texas in early December of 2021 we traveled down to Florida, spending the last week of December in the Keys, and then celebrating our entry into the New Year under the stars at Everglades National Park.  It felt like a wonderful and hopeful beginning to the New Year.  But some things don’t always go the way you expect or even the way you hope.  But let’s back up a little first.

It didn’t take long for me to realize - about the time we arrived in Texas - that I had not been listening to my body or spirit.  I was completely worn out and needed rest.  All the activity from the past ten months had finally caught up and I found myself in need of withdrawal. Nothing was flowing.  No writing, no creativity, no sparks.  And I fully expected that if I gave myself over to rest in December, by January I would be ready to go again.  But the new year came, and I was even less motivated to write than I had been in December.  Things felt slippery, and I gave all my energy to trying to figure out ways to root myself into our new rootless life which felt like a futile exercise but I kept trying. 

And then in late January our sweet Mechie awoke in the middle of the night in excruciating pain.  Four hours later she was gone. 

 A week later we left for Germany to see our son and his partner.  The trip had been months in the planning.  It had been over two years since we had seen his partner due to travel restriction - and they were preparing for a large move to Northern Germany for Robert’s post-doctoral position.  Not only did we want to see them, but they also needed our help in getting Robert temporarily moved until they could do the big move together in March.  

 We returned to the states in February battered and exhausted.  We had originally planned to head to Savannah to do some exploring on the coast, but we quickly realized we needed to regroup, to nurse our wounded hearts, and get our life in order.  We changed plans, cancelled reservations, and drove back to Texas.  A place we had not expected to see for at least a year when we left in December.  But also a place that was starting to feel like home base. 

 And for over three weeks we stayed put.  We picked up the ashes of our puppy.  We made frequent trips back and forth to our storage unit -sifting through boxes of stuff – trading out odds and ends until we felt like what was in Biggest Betty actually felt like home.   

 I took time off from other activities to focus on getting Betty organized in a way that felt logical and not just thrown together.  We poured ourselves into the spiritual act of curating a space that felt sacred and welcoming.  We hung art up on our walls.  We added plants to our space.  We took walks with Brigid.  We talked with her about the loss of her sister.  We mourned together.  We acknowledge our grief and let it come out.  We cooked meals.  We sat outside and watched the sun come up and go down.  We read books and we worked.

 I still did not feel like writing, but I could feel I was getting closer.

Finally, at the end of February, we were ready to leave Texas -and I realized I was ready to start writing again. 

I began making plans for how I would restart The Wandering Hermit, praying for inspiration. And each time I sat in prayer, this image of Mechie’s paw would come to mind.  

It had been included in the package of her ashes but had broken in transit.  We did our best to glue it back together but it was missing pieces.  And yet, it couldn’t have been more sacred.

One morning when we were still in Texas I awoke early and looked out the window.  Outside was the most magical scene greeting me.  The entire sky was reflecting back onto the lake behind our camper.  It was difficult to see where the earth ended and the more ethereal sky began.  I woke Jason up and we went outside into the cold morning light to watch it all – lost in wonder.

 We think that this earthly plane that we live on is the only reality.  That this tangible stuff we can touch is the only thing that is real - but there is so much more.   Mechthild is as much a part of us as she was in her earthly body.  She is the light reflecting back on that lake, merging earth with sky, and calling for us to get out of bed and come outside to see her. She is the tiny white feathers I kept finding outside our camper door when I went outside.  She is the trees and the birds and the stories that remain in our hearts. 

 And we are not rootless regardless of how we choose to live our lives.  We are rooted in something much more grounding than a fixed address of brick and mortar.  We are rooted in the Divine, in a God that never abandons us.  In a universe that is both seen and unseen.  We are whole and we are broken.  We are light and we are darkness.  We are here physically and we are also completely and totally spirit.  We are the space where the earth and the sky meet and the lines between the two blur and there is no demarcation.

 And it is not a contradiction.  Or separate.  Or bad or a mistake.  It is all part of the same whole that makes all things complete.  It is all mystery. 

This is what I have been learning these past few months as I took time off from writing.  As I allowed my soul and body to rest.  As I moved through the difficult terrain that entered our lives early this year. 

 Surrendering to the unknown was never meant to be easy.  And that is what we are in the process of doing.  There is no plan.  There is no goal.  We are wandering for the love of God.  Who knows where that might lead.