I'm listening to Essie Jain right now. And her song called Glory is making my heart swell. I'd really like to write, and if you decide to read this, please listen to it while you do so.
It's nearing the end of our gestation period on this little pasture on planet Earth. I'm not sure if I can piece my emotions together. I'm neither sad nor happy, regretful nor content. I don't want to leave my animals. I don't want to stop working with David either. I've developed really incredible relationships with the people, creatures, and nature surrounding this house. It's just magic. I hate to leave before I feel ready. And it's funny, thinking about the connections I've made with so-called inanimate objects. How can people say a structure that was built by something known to have a consciousness not have one itself? I'm going to miss the shed... it's creaking door and flickering fluorescent light. I'm going to miss the sturdy posts of the clothesline and the wooden paneling in the kitchen, the chalkboard walls and the left-over pink scalloped paint above the basement door.
Living here has reinvigorated a side of me that fell asleep for a while. I don't know that it had ever been awake during my first twenty years, but in a past life for sure. And that's the beautiful curiosity of it all. Something about this house, this land, is sacred. The people who dreamed here before me left something for their followers to learn. And even though this house will soon fall to the ground, new people will arrive. They'll somehow need this land and it will teach them something too. Hopefully I'll leave bits of knowledge in the soil. I probably left them there this summer with the thousands of peach pits in our garden. (You know this place was once a peach orchard?) And Thadeus, buried at the edge of the yard will swiftly decompose once the frost melts. We buried him beneath a large tree that a family of deer walk by daily. In spring this tree will decorate herself in pink feathery flowers and with the first handsome gust of wind they'll blow right away, with them fragments of our darling kitten.
I can't say I've come full circle yet, but living here and experiencing the things that this house had to offer, showed me a different side of life. And that is why I'm not entirely sad. I know there is another plot of land that I am meant to call home. There are more blades of grass to ponder (or eat if I were an Alpaca) and there is a more quiet place for our animals to join us one day. I still need to grow carrots and potatoes and cabbage and peas. And I have yet to drink fresh goat's milk or bake a cake with eggs from healthy hens. There are so many things in store. Some will be challenging and I might want to give up. But I do know this will pay off in the end. Staying true to our convictions is the only freedom we seem to have in this world. And on that note, wish us luck in our transition.