Homecoming

Occasionally I get the feeling like I want to cry and cry and cry.

Sometimes it’s when I glance at a picture I took, and suddenly I’m transported right back to that spot, feeling and breathing and being there. Sometimes it’s just an image in my mind, or a random impulse. The whole world is different now. Yes, I am back home… but my entire world has been changed.

I don’t want to cry because I’m sad, though, because I’m not. I’m actually very happy. Today was one of the best days of my life. I went over to my Dad’s house in Charlton, and we had a fantastic day. All the kids were there (Joel, Govie, Candice, and I) and we haven’t all been together like that in years and years. We sat outside by the pool and we laughed, and then we ate steamers and lobsters, and even Dad, while he was saying Grace, had to cut the prayer short because it was all so beautiful. I almost cried myself, sitting there, being happy.

Today assuaged so many of my fears of coming home. I was so nervous that I would be depressed, or that I would feel more distant than ever from my family and the people who matter. I am overjoyed to learn that this trip has only brought me closer to the authentic self I was always hoping to express and to be, and that now I move more fluidly through moments. I am more settled in the Present, and I am more confident of my place within it.

But occasionally I just want to sob. I am unaware of where this impulse is originating from, but I know it is partly from a deep appreciation of the Road, and of the Silence, and of the Solitude I experienced there.

I was always one who thrived in solitude rather than feared it, but now it is more than that. Now it is an awareness of my strength, of my profound nature, my grace, my gifts, and my place on this earth. I am honored to have had the opportunity to learn this things, and at such a young age. I have an entire life now to impress myself upon the world, and leave marks of beauty and grace, and poetry.

Disconnection, Day 9

Feeling disconnected today. That feeling where I’m here but my heart is elsewhere and my mind is hithertoforth and my breath is wherewithal…

If you know what I mean.

Just drank a delicious smoothie, which made everything a little bit better. Even though the tip of my tongue hurts. I think I burned it. No, not with the smoothie. Silly.

I have that listless, slightly befuddled, slightly hopeless feeling. I just get this way sometimes, most likely due to my over-analysis of every little thing, and my ability (or is it a curse?) to feel everything perhaps just a tad too acutely.

I’m just going to keep myself on the road, and eventually I’ll find my way. A door will open and I’ll peak inside, and suddenly be giddy with what lays ahead. I simply need to accustom myself to not always knowing what I’m doing, or where I’m going, or how I’m going to get there.

I miss love; I do. I miss the giddy feelings, I miss the grabbing and the kissing and the feeling that the sky is closer than the earth and the earth is closer than my dreams and my dreams are living, breathing entities I can touch and kiss and pull close to my body.

I have so much love to give. And I realize that one day I will have the opportunity to give it, honorably and completely, and (hopefully) to someone worthy of such love.

I’m hoping that Chas doesn’t mind my quoting of a message he sent me on Writer’s Cafe, but I feel the need to post it here, perhaps simply to remind myself of his words.

“I think what I’m hinting at is the same thing I always say when I review your works: Your essence is beautiful. It’s not just that you **have** a gift; you **are** a gift. We’re so lucky to have someone as genuine and artistic and thoughtful as you; I can’t say all the things that you’ve shown me in the two years since I’ve joined Writer’s Cafe (today’s my 2 year “anniversary”, actually). You just capture things with a different essence altogether than I could even think about enjoying.

So thank you. For everything. :)”

The sweetest thing ever. It made my morning to read it. I’ve received messages and had conversations with people lately that have been really inspiring and encouraging. Which is so important right now; if I was doing this all on my own, I would definitely have many more moments of weakness.

What’s next? Not sure. Georgia, then perhaps Florida, perhaps Tennessee. Maybe I’ll stay here for a few more days. I honestly have no idea. I guess partly because I need to allow this feeling to pass. And I wouldn’t mind a nice tan before I went anywhere else, haha. Replace the pasty white ghost look I’m currently sportin’. 😛



Newfoundland, PA

I got into town around 5:30 yesterday (Wednesday) afternoon. Newfoundland, PA welcomed me with open arms, and breathtaking shades of light and shadow that reminded me why I had left everything behind in the first place.

The drive had been easy (only about 3 hours) and I felt… nauseous the entire time. It was a mixture of first-date butterflies and life-altering seasickness. I had left. I had actually packed my car, got behind the driver’s seat, and drove away. The “dizziness of freedom” that Kierkegaard often mentions had it’s grip on me good, and I was indeed dizzy. Dizzy with freedom, dizzy from lack of food, with possibility, and with all the other things that dizziness and freedom imply.

When I pulled into the driveway, with it’s weeping willow standing sentry and sunflower seeds tucked deep beneath the soil, preparing to breathe, I shut off the ignition and sat. There was no movement from the house, and I was surprised when a green car pulled into the drive and settled in the garage. Jeanmarie.

I really didn’t know what to expect; how can one make expectations of such things? All I could rely on were my instincts, which had failed me many times in the past and had been started to be put into question. But there she was, with her red curls and smiling face. Just like in her pictures – perhaps a bit slighter. I was surprised by her apparent resemblance to a daisy that could be carried away by a breeze, and yet assured by her eyes that she was firmly settled into the ground. No one was wisping her away.

I felt instantly comfortable in her and Brian’s house. It was small, but the floor plan was open and the walls were palpably brimming with human emotion.

I would expect no less from Jeanmarie.

Which I soon discovered to be her writer name, and I was caught between calling her that and calling her Happy, which I personally found to be a name rife with unfulfilled expectations… especially for one has complicated and authentic as she.

I met Caitlin, her beautiful baby with ethereal blue eyes and curly wisps of hair (who is quite obviously going to be as stunningly lovely as her mother). For the next 30 hours she proceeded to cry and coo and giggle and scream and eat and fuss and poop… and, overall, be ridiculously adorable. I will definitely be leaving a piece of my heart with her… that, and a moo woobie.

Yes, a moo woobie. 😛