Holding Steady

I allowed myself to be cradled in the Creator's arms today, just like these rocks are held in the wood's womb.

I allowed myself to be cradled in the Creator’s arms today, just like these rocks are held in the weathered wood’s soft womb.

The days roll by in interesting waves. Yesterday I arranged for more time here as I keep hearing  “wait”. Today I intended to live in the stillness, dropping all thoughts of where to, what next for this pilgrim. I awaited a response from a woman about a possible house share that came about  through following an inner prompting. She is assisting her mom as she transitions to another realm, so I knew that was where her focus was needed. I expanded into that breath, allowing it to move in its right time. Two days, that felt stretched wide, had passed since our contact. Two other offers came of temporary spots, how I appreciate these dear hearts. Still, the “wait”.  I went off to further explore the island. I was prepared with snacks and water this time as I intended a longer walk. I took off my shoes and stashed them behind a tree so as to feel the earth and rocks. I went a ways, took a call from one so dear to me. He offers yet again, the support of a landing spot and assistance in finding and furnishing a place. If I am at the end of my tether with this no home situation, he is ahead of me. He wants me safe and settled as he has been the backup support for too long. He is tired, I am tired of me. I end up feeling beleaguered. Tears, even defensiveness come up in me. Yes, my moving about does not make sense on one level; yes, I want a place; yes, I want community; yes, I want to participate in life. No, my actions have not facilitated any of this and yet…and yet. The idea of a lease and commitment to future time feels impossible to me. The thought of gathering furnishings feels like a weight that will bury me. Still there is the impulse to run back to the known, to be held for a moment, to be assisted in doing all of this as nothing else feels right. Something holds me back.

Eagle on wing, flying into the treetops.

Eagle on wing, flying into the treetops.

I hear the “wait” once again. I turn back and retrieve my wool socks and hikers as suddenly I am too tender to be walking with bare feet on the cold earth. I press on to the sea, watch two eagles follow one another into the forest. I find a weathered tree toppled along the bluff that offers a lunch spot. I take out my hard boiled egg, carrots and celery, feeling smug that I am so prepared. I answer a call from a friend. A moment later, a bee or wasp, stings the base of my thumb on the hand that was holding the phone. It went flying as I screamed in pain, scraping the insect away. It felt like a wasp as it is still sore, hours later. I had cleaned out my backpack that morning and forgot to put my first aid kit back in. I carry this green tin of Bert’s Bees’ res-Q-ointment that works for bites, burns and scrapes. I regretted my lapse as it would have offered some relief. I asked my body what that was all about. I heard, “activation and time to head back.” I don’t need any more shocks!  I felt teary, the wind had turned cold and suddenly I needed another layer on. What is this fragility that I seem to live in of late?  Everything is on the surface, I am as raw as the wind blowing off the sea. Time for warmth and a hot bath.

This was my gift as I turned from the sea, the sun spilling her silver liquidlovelight for me.

This was my gift as I turned from the sea, the sun spilling her silver liquidlovelight for me.

I lay in the tub, feeling underneath the rolling of my emotions to a deep stillness that is carrying me. I am a wave, being carried ever closer to the shore of my desires. Shambhala, that misty place, my heart resides. I feel each drop that forms this wave, all of us, courageous hearts.  We make our way, up and over, crashing and churning, relentlessly moving. An ancient knowing drives our movement, to leap and throw off what no longer serves, to dive deep to the place of remembering, to steadily surge forward towards that shore. No time given for arrival, no knowing what awaits…….Christopher Columbus and his men had nothing on us. We are explorers of an inner land. No landmarks, no navigational tools. Only this instinct, surging and moving us onward. Elemental. Yes, reduced to the elements. That is how I feel. I am carbon, crystal, water. A flame, a torrential storm, desert sand, the mist that floats in.

I AM. That is all I know this night. I AM.