Tuesday, November 1, 2011

Coming Home

On this day, November 1, 2011 (11-1-11) I wake up very early and feel the need to write. The pen flows across the paper at lightening speed. I am not thinking, just writing.

I'm in my bed, in the Native American room at the Moby Dick Hotel, week four and I ask myself Why Am I Here? What has this last month been about? 

It's about hibernation. Quiet time. Resting. Gathering my strength and my courage. Ready to jump off to the next adventure. I have been spending time with Me. Loving myself. Trusting myself. 

The closer I get to my soul, the less far ahead my vision becomes. I don't need to see the future. The future is right now. The next moment. I enjoy each one. Each breath, each sip of hot rosella tea with slices of fresh ginger, each morsel of food that passes my lips, each sip of red wine and each square of chocolate. Each dish I wash in the hot soapy water, each page I turn of my book, each episode of Ally McBeal or Arrested Development I watch on the DVDs rented from the library. 

It's SO quiet here. Quiet quite unlike any I have ever heard. The stars and the trees, the ocean and the bay and the crow of the chickens keep me company. 

The fear that creeps into my mind and my stomach in the dark of night are here to teach me. I am strong. I am protected and I am loved.

How strong are my beliefs and my practices when I am alone? It's easy when I'm around like-minded souls, but when I'm alone for long periods, then the truth comes out.

And I like the truth that I see.

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