Everywhere but here
I seem to have been posting everywhere but here. Photos seem to end up on Facebook, because it's so easy to post there. I've been writing about weaving on my blog at tromp-as-writ.com and yet I've been missing the connections with the people who are here.
I'm still unpacking boxes and readjusting to rural life. Things are different when you live on a mountain top. Errands take planning, because it's ten miles to the nearest anything--a gas station in one direction and a wonderful greener-than-thou grocery co-op in the other direction. If I want to go into town, that's another 10 miles. I find I don't want to spend very much time in town. I stop for groceries on the way home from the office, a couple of times a week. I'm learning to eat what's on hand, whether I am in the mood for it or not. I am reconnecting with the joy of driving on country roads.
I have found a local sangha in the tradition of Thich Nhat Hanh. I can go to kirtan at Kripalu Center, and I am looking forward to meeting the local pagan community at summer solstice. These three spiritual traditions keep me whole. I've given up thinking that I have to choose one, because I have drifted out of balance every time I have tried.
I'm still recovering from the years in the city. It was toxic for me, and it was a testament to my stubbornness that I survived it for so long. I have a lot of support on my healing journey. There are three fox kits that play in my meadow. A phoebe is nesting in my eaves. The chipping sparrows glean the seeds that other birds drop from the feeders. There's a small lake nearby, and early on weekend mornings, I am likely to be gliding my kayak across it's rippling mirror.
One sign that I am making progress is that I am listening to music again, and even streaming some public radio programs. Toward the end of my time in the city, I lived in total silence at home. There was so much external noise, and so much public chatter, that I couldn't bear to hear another sound.
in bliss
Athena
I'm still unpacking boxes and readjusting to rural life. Things are different when you live on a mountain top. Errands take planning, because it's ten miles to the nearest anything--a gas station in one direction and a wonderful greener-than-thou grocery co-op in the other direction. If I want to go into town, that's another 10 miles. I find I don't want to spend very much time in town. I stop for groceries on the way home from the office, a couple of times a week. I'm learning to eat what's on hand, whether I am in the mood for it or not. I am reconnecting with the joy of driving on country roads.
I have found a local sangha in the tradition of Thich Nhat Hanh. I can go to kirtan at Kripalu Center, and I am looking forward to meeting the local pagan community at summer solstice. These three spiritual traditions keep me whole. I've given up thinking that I have to choose one, because I have drifted out of balance every time I have tried.
I'm still recovering from the years in the city. It was toxic for me, and it was a testament to my stubbornness that I survived it for so long. I have a lot of support on my healing journey. There are three fox kits that play in my meadow. A phoebe is nesting in my eaves. The chipping sparrows glean the seeds that other birds drop from the feeders. There's a small lake nearby, and early on weekend mornings, I am likely to be gliding my kayak across it's rippling mirror.
One sign that I am making progress is that I am listening to music again, and even streaming some public radio programs. Toward the end of my time in the city, I lived in total silence at home. There was so much external noise, and so much public chatter, that I couldn't bear to hear another sound.
in bliss
Athena