Author: gypsywoman

I will never be a writer if I do not write. I keep telling myself this same thing over and over and over again.

It seems I find lots of distractions, excuses, sometimes reasons (sometimes)…not to sit here and do this. Who cares about my little life, anyway? What do I have to say? What does my opinion matter…or this personal experience, really, in the grand scheme of things? Who do I think I am? What if what I write is boring? And the list goes on…

It’s easier to read someone else’s book. It’s easier to live vicariously than to come here to this computer and get a feel for my own voice. 

This past couple of days I have been reading a book by Elizabeth Berg. This one is called The Year of Pleasures. I sigh and I think: Will I ever be able to write a novel with that kind of depth?

So Dear Readers, Kind Readers, if you are still here I so appreciate you. Thank you for being along for the ride, with me.

I am in Las Vegas, right now. My mother is here. I grew up here. I went to Junior High School and High School here. (Not that I know my way around it well, anymore…it has changed so much since then.) It’s possible I will be here through the new year. Jake is with me, sharing this Airbnb.

The photo is a photo of me sitting by the fire in the front room. In case you can’t see it, the caption on the mug says “Live the life you imagine.” It’s my little daily reminder.

I’ve been spending some time in cabins up in Northern California (didn’t have much internet there) and at a silent retreat in Southern California. So, yes, I’ve been taking a break.

I will leave you with this: A couple of days ago I wrote in my personal journal:

“Over and over again I am thrown back in the middle of the story…back into the woman and the struggle and the doubt. Over and over again I have tried to transcend it…to rise above it. I have tried to climb up and out of the fire of my humanity. It doesn’t work.

It never works.”

Right now I am thinking how grateful I am for that. I am thinking how grateful I am for my humanity. Blessings to you, Dear Reader.

I wish you a beautiful holiday season.

WARNING:

It’s highly possible I am not telling you the truth. (I’m just sayin’.)  It could be that every single thing I say is false, muddled, garbled and confused.

In an hour, a day, a week, a month, I might even see it as a lie, myself. I might decide I said it all wrong.

This doesn’t mean it’s not from the heart. What it means is that this is what my  mind does when it attempts to express what’s in my heart. The mind filters, strains, edits…and it adds flourishes.  This is the nature of writing, I find, and the nature of words. This doesn’t necessarily make it untrue, either. How funny is that?

What I am is truth. What you are is truth, at the deepest level. That’s saying an entirely different thing. Truth seems to be what’s here in front of me before my interpretations or feelings or opinions get added into the mix. Truth doesn’t have to tell a story about itself. It just is.

I love a good story, though. I’ll be the first to admit it. Our stories add color to our lives. Maybe that’s the whole point: Color. Experience. Drama. What would life be like without them? Less painful? More peaceful? Just plain boring?

I am learning that I create the meaning. It doesn’t seem to exist anywhere else. It’s my own toy to play with. It’s my own pallet to paint with.

It is the first day of October. Autumn. It is the beginning of the final quarter of another year. This time of year always feels like the last chapters of something to me…although a beginning would be just as much the truth, perhaps even more so. Every moment is new, after all. That’s truth. Still, it feels as if there is a book about to close as the weather gets cooler and the leaves begin to turn color. There is a certain beauty in cycles…a certain symmetry. Nature has her own rituals.

I was wondering to myself, this morning, what I was doing last year at this time of year…and I remembered.  I had just arrived back in Madison by Greyhound bus. Ostensibly, I was there to move along the sale of the house. Ostensibly, I was there to help take care of things so the realtor would not be alone…but all I felt then was paralyzed. All I felt then was useless…and afraid.

There is a place beyond this human experience that is whole. There is a place within each of us that is sound…forever pristine, unharmed and innocent. I believe that with all my heart. Some call that place “The Witness.” I have heard it called “Home.” The paradox is that we never find that place by denying the wounds we have felt. I have never found light by denying the darkness exists.

It may be that nothing I do will matter at all in the end…a thousand years from now, or even as few as a hundred…or ten. All I can do is nurture what matters to me now. That’s living. That’s appreciating the gift. That’s gratitude.

Diving in with everything I’ve got is an expression of gratitude.

So, as the year begins to wind down into autumn and winter; I wonder what will be born in the spring. What seeds can I plant now?

 

 

So…what do I have to share?

Jake is in the area, now. He arrived a week ago yesterday and spent a couple of nights here at my place while he got himself situated in a place of his own. Yesterday happened to be our wedding anniversary. Neither divorced nor married seems like the appropriate word anymore. Old rules don’t apply.

It feels as if we are testing whether or not doing some more traveling together after the end of October will work. We’ve had some deep conversations about our processes. It surprised me to see some anger, resentment and sadness still coming up after what feels like “all this time.” I think I am done with certain things and I find I’m not. Maybe that’s just the messy human in me. Sometimes you just have to love the mess. The British have a phrase I like: “There’s nothing else for it.” Sometimes loving the mess is the only cure.

“What a strange life…and what an interesting one.” I wrote in my personal journal a week ago. “When I am relaxed and not panicked, I can really take that in. The scenery is ever changing. When I am open to it, it is a kaleidoscope of color…beauty.” Sometimes I am blinded by the mess…and sometimes not. Sometimes there are moments of clarity.

The key to “what’s next” is somehow right here inside me. (Where else would it be?) I am the only one who can open that door…and yet there has been this feeling that I am still waiting on myself.

Can the anger and resentment soften? Can it soften into opening and letting go? Can it soften into my own clear boundaries and my own clear “yes”? Can it soften into respect and self-respect? Listening…and being heard? Can traveling together be something that serves and benefits us both on each of our paths? If that’s a possibility, maybe traveling together is a possibility. If it isn’t…then it obviously won’t work.

 

Stop. Start. Fumble. Fall. Get up again.

I am laughing at myself. Really.

Here I am again. Hello, Readers.

Since I posted last I went on a lovely trip to San Francisco to see some friends. It was wonderful to connect with them again, and it did my heart so much good. I treated myself to a room at The Westin St. Francis Hotel on Union Square. Just glorious. There was dim sum and walking in Chinatown with my friend J; and a pot luck picnic in Golden Gate Park with my friend V.

I returned to find the place my sister and I had arranged for me to rent from her all set up and ready. So many sweet messages placed all around to welcome me…

      

on the walls…

and this one on the sofa.

Here is the living room, complete with a gliding rocker where I can put my feet up.

My delightful little laptop-friendly space…

and my cozy bedroom.

My sister is one of the most thoughtful people I know.  (Is this someone who is on my side, or what?) There was coffee and a coffee maker, some food in the fridge, Hint Water (if you haven’t tried Hint Water, it’s sooo delicious!)…there was even some wine, a bottle of red and a bottle of white. I had everything I needed to get settled in.  (Thank you, Sis!)

I have been back a couple of weeks. In that time my sister and I went to Garden City in Kansas for a baby shower for my niece. I was so happy to be able to be there for that! What a treat!

So…things are good. Things are still up in the air, but they’re good. Maybe things are actually always up in the air, even when we think they’re stable and solid, even we think we know which way the river is turning. There are always surprises…and thank heaven for that.

I wrote in my personal journal this morning:

“This is my life right here…right now. This is not a wrong turn off the path…it is the path. Whoever would have guessed that this is where the path would lead? Whoever would have guessed that this is where love would lead? Certainly not I.”

 

I have a confession to make: I have been feeling as if I am on a roller coaster ride with confusion, lately.

Here I am, back in the United States, back around family…and I am not sure at all what is happening next…except that it looks like I will be in Colorado for the next couple of months. It can be a bit unsettling. I try to remember that I have been in this “spot” in my life before; starting from scratch…creating something completely different. Sometimes it feels as if I have lived many different lives and been many different people. There is also a core that is none of those people at all.

There is something more real that is silent…quiet…underneath all the show. All it does is breathe…and notice.

I have been hearing the phrase “come home to your heart” in varying ways and from varying directions lately. When I try to “figure things out”, (which is a lot of what’s been rolling around in my head lately), it pretty generally doesn’t work. Something gets blocked and bogged down. So today I have given myself complete permission to rest…to really rest; to let go of “what’s next?”, at least for the next 24 hours. I am opening up a space to come home to my heart.

 

 

Dear Readers,

Sometimes all in the course of a single day, I can find myself moving through anxiousness, and fear, and frustration..to a sense of hope, and exhilaration…to seeing all kinds of possibilities; (and yes, sometimes it’s happening in the other direction, too.)

All in the course of a day, I can wonder what the hell I’m doing…and I can love my life beyond belief.

I am lucky…so lucky…to have friends who are able to see beyond the fear; who listen and never feed it. I am lucky to have friends who see beyond my own imagined limitations and don’t let me play it small. (I hope you have friends like that, too.)

It was a rainy day, today…such a perfect day to have a cappuccino in the cozy upper loft of a coffee house, and wander through a book store, and to get my hair cut. It was a day of yummy nurturing.

I found Temple Cafe today. I just love what happens when I wander. Something wonderful always seems to show up. I just sank into this chair and lingered over my coffee.

And this is Charlie Byrne’s Book Shop…a delightful place to get lost among the books!

    

The display in the children’s section tickled me no end. Isn’t it marvelous?

Tonight I am wishing you beauty and wandering in your own life.

Hello, Dear Readers!

I have moved again…(still near Galway). Right behind me, now, is a place called Merlin Woods Park, where there is a little castle believed to have been built in 15th or 16th century.

        

I am looking forward to some nature hikes!

You can read a bit about Merlin Park Castle here, if you like.

This is a photo of my new, sweet little space.

My new host (Una) was very helpful with the bus system, and it’s super-easy from here…so, after settling in and taking my little walk in the woods, I headed off to Galway again. I feel as if I’m picking up speed at getting oriented!

I know I’ve posted photos of the Spanish Arch before, but I really like this one because it gives a nice perspective. You can actually see the whole thing at once. The others were up close.

That’s Mutton Island Lighthouse in the distance, in the first photo…can you see it? And a photo of the beach that looks out toward it.

  

I also stopped by an art installation (part of the Galway International Art Festival) called Ghost Chapel.

   

and here’s a little something about Ghost Chapel

I hope you all are having a glorious day!

The winds of Ireland are blowing.I don’t know where they’re going,
but as I listen,
they are carrying me home.

Home to myself…
Home to my heart…
Home to a place that is everywhere…
and that I’ve never left.
Home…where I have always been.
I am coming home.

The wind is dancing…
can you feel it?
It is showing me the way.
It is dancing in the rain
and through the garden…
and it sings…
Come with me.
Come with me.
Come with me.
Can you see?
Watch closely now…

This is the way home.