What I thought was going to be two days without my computer turned into about six, and I decided to use it as a nearly high tech-free time. But I am sorry I didn't alert my readers (used, I guess, to hearing from me every two to four days) to the hiatus. I guess it's a sign of my age that it's a relief, not a hardship, to be unplugged. It's kind of like, a return to a reality that feels more natural. But when I just woke up now in the middle of the night and my laptop was at hand, I couldn't help myself. Time to get back to work. Time to plug back into the world.
What a week it has been. This blog has not yet been a forum for commenting on the events in the news, and for the moment, I won't start now. It is not, I assure you, that I am clueless to what is happening or even worse, insensitive. Quite the contrary. As a former Time Inc.-er, I cannot help but be drawn to analysis of world and national events, personalizing it with a spiritual spin. It is just that there are so many other venues for commentary these days, I don't think for the moment that my heart is in it to be one of them. Today, I guess I'll just speak for what I hope are millions of people out there who would not pick up a weapon of any kind in any situation, offensively or defensively. It is all I can do to "defend" myself in a verbal situation, or even (as you may have gathered by now!) to engage in our financial "fight for survival" model. The whole "conflict" paradigm is so over for me. I have a hunch that there are many more of us out there than the news might indicate. When these events shock us to the core, may all of us try to find the glimmer of love trying to break through.
I was visiting the friend who, bless her heart, has held my 20-or-so motley boxes and bags in her basement these last few transitional years. I had a clear leading that the moment had come, not only to consolidate my belongings one more time, but to get them packed up properly in boxes that could easily be shipped when the moment comes. This is an illustration of how the Liz path is the reverse of many people's -- I don't wait to know where I am moving or how it will happen. At so many different forks in the road, I have just had to give the Universe a decisive sign that I am ready for what's next. So a trip to the Salvation Army and several trash bags later, I'm down to 15 well packed, mostly smaller boxes.
The hardest choice was what to do with a dozen or so journals from about 2012-14. The historian in me had promised myself not to throw out any more journals but they are literally weighty. I said a prayer, and kind of flipped through them thinking, if they feel good, I'll keep them and if they feel yucky, they're out of here. They were mostly process journals, gratitude lists and prayers to try to keep me going during a rather challenging time. Overall, though, the energy coming from them was negative enough to warrant tossing them. Before doing so, I did flip through and keep selected pages. It's all about telling the new story now.
I was reminded, however, of an event back in, I think, 2013, before my first recent trip back to England. I had seen a book in the library about drawing a map of your inner landscape. I meditated briefly, and the image that had come to me immediately was of me being a small child huddled under a dead tree in a dry gulch in the desert. For several weeks, I worked with this, even leading myself on a guided visualization where the only other person in the picture, an old grizzled prospector, came up to me and eventually gained my trust enough to help me back on my feet. He led me up a dusty hill, from which there was a view of a much greener landscape below, and he sent me on my way in that direction. I have kept the little sketches I did in my journal of all this, because I know it was literally and figuratively a huge turning point.
So for fun, I decided to see if I have a new inner landscape now, three years or so later. And after about thirty seconds, this is the image that came to me: I am now an adult woman, standing on my own two feet with (OK, yes...) a bag over each shoulder. I am standing facing a very ornate bridge over a major river. While beautiful with carved marble and light fixtures, the bridge is empty of people or traffic. It is completely open and waiting for me to step onto it. At the other side of the bridge is "my house" -- this house that I have started to envision, welcoming, warm, inviting. I'm not quite in it yet, but it is there within reach now. The process that started in the desert seems to be bringing me home. And while time will tell how metaphorical or real the specific house is, I do know that this is big progress. Big.
I am thankful for my hiatus, and the reminder of how far I have traveled.
