Blissed Out and Heavenly.

Calm

I have been very,very bad. The universe has been a delicious fruit, that I have been devouring like a starving animal. Every moment has been momentous, every second, a seductress. This is not mania, this is my entrance into the Now. And until this moment, my Now was just too enthralling, too alluring to sit down and write. Oh, I sat. I sat and I lounged with ecstatic stupor, and I laid back on hammocks by the river and big cozy gypsy beds while warm summer breezes kissed my skin. But I could not for the life of me pick up a damned pen and write.

I wanted to, I started many times (and by start, of course, I mean opened a notebook and giggled at it), but then succumbed to gazing idiotically into space, possibly drooling, falling back in love with the world around me, and myself within it.

P.O.V. Waltz

This week I was vacationing on a magical piece of river property belonging to a good family friend. Nestled somewhere between the Kettle River and The Afterlife, I was blessed to be able to spend some time here alone to commune with The Goddess (or Whomever), and was gifted a mighty thunder and lightening storm. It could be seen from across the river, but only touched my little place of divinity.

I hauled water from the creek to boil for dishes and drinking. For a better part of the week I was joined by my some of my very favorite people, but on Wednesday they all went away and left me as alone as I have been in YEARS. So clearly I was dressed like a pirate. Tie-pants, a bandanna and even a clever sash, I sliced fruit with my buck knife, smoked rolled cigarettes and wore my headlamp to the outhouse.

I pretty much lived in that hammock.

When I made the decision to pack up all of my necessities and ditch the rest, uproot my daughter and blow the proverbial Popsicle Stand , at best I hoped that by simplifying my life, quite possibly to the point of boring, I could negate the need for toxic  medication and learn to use my own strengths to balance myself out. I had no idea that I would be embraced into the bosom of nature and taught to see the majesty that is Now.

I have never been happier.    In. My. Life.

This lacks the delusions of grandeur I experience with hypo-mania… ok, I will admit to some possible whimsical thought crescendos. And I have been finding myself a bit more… erm, randy than usual, but in the swell of summer and in the very womb of Nature, even breathing feels like making love.

For as long as I remember, I have always wanted to live in a school bus. My mother and older sister lived in one before I was born, and being genetically nomadic, the mobility appeals to us on many levels.

My Summer home

This is a custom made bus, that my best friend’s husband built, worked and lived in for many years. It is the top half of one bus welded to the bottom of another.  It is bigger that some apartments I have lived in.

Gypsy Palace

I began the summer by picking organic cherries at a local orchard. I would sleep in a tent the nights before a harvest wake up at 4:30am to pick. We had to stop before the fruit got too warm, become soft and bruised. That was usually around 11 or noon.

There was a lot of bending of my comfort level in those first weeks. I had never slept in a tent alone before, and on the first night we heard a bear just outside. A FUCKING BEAR. Soooooo cooooool. Not even joking. I had never been too good with heights either. Not skyscraper, or gondola type heights, those I am fine with, it’s not death I am afraid of. My fear resides in the land of inconvenient pain. I am talking step stools on which to change a light bulb. Those kinds of heights. I almost fainted when I had to climb up to a first story balcony window after locking myself out. but here I was on 6- and 8 ft. ladders clinging on to a branch with one hand an leaning waaaay back to grasp at the berries with the other.Very exhilarating indeed!

God, it was gorgeous. At dawn everything looks touched by magic anyway, but these cherries looked like precious jewels against the backdrop of leaf and sunrise.

My daughter is away in Canada until next week when the whole family will join together to celebrate my grandmother’s 85th birthday. I know I should be using this time to figure out my life, and plan for Autumn. The job market here is abysmal (as almost everywhere else), but I refuse to let it bother me. If this is where we are supposed to be, I am confident that the Universe will provide the way, but that doesn’t mean that I can get away with not putting in the work.

Right after my nap.

Kiss Lovies! May your summer be just as grand!

~CTW

Movin’ On Up

I am so obnoxiously disorganized. This is a major point of difficulty in my life. I like things and get distracted quite easily and tend to collect chaos and great bundles of clashing nonsense wherever I go. I wouldn’t go so far as to say that I hoard things, necessarily, but I am shit at letting go. Matter and metaphorical. I believe that our material world is a physical manifestation of our subconscious selves. I am not implying that a tidy house is a clean psyche, sometimes quite the opposite; I had a good friend in high school who lived in a house where everything had it’s place, but it was always so cold and unwelcoming. It seemed dark even when the sun shone through the windows. He and his parents rarely spoke, when his father did talk to him it was usually a criticism. I was never actually there when his parents were around, and even though I have never been super perceptive to energies, I could still feel the disassociation and stunted emotion in that home.

My own home, however, is inviting and comfortable, or so I have been told. As I have gotten older I have learned to keep the common areas as tidy as can be expected of someone as domestically disabled as myself and there is no denying the creativity and love in this house. We can get messy, but rarely are we dirty. My kitchen is always in varying degrees of entropy, but I find time a few days a week to turn on some loud music and clean the bejeezus out of it. I actually like to clean. It is meditative for me, once I have gotten over the starting part. Motivation to start anything is not a strength I possess just yet. I am, however, an expert lounger and am absolutely in love with leisure. I would do it for a living if I could, and be very good at it. My living room reflects this. Big comfy couch and chairs, throw pillows, throw blankets, anything throwable really, rugs, parties, a biscuit if you are so inclined… There are tons of books and movies, art supplies and stereo equipment. Really anything you might want to waste some time on, I got. Except video games, I hate a challenge.

Then there is my room. The room that I also share with my daughter, though she really only goes in there to sleep. It has no windows and an unusually slender door. It is at the back of the apartment, hidden and ignored. The fire exit is an oddly placed white door that looks like a front door of a house, heavy and metal with a dead bolt. It leads to my building manager’s storage space and eventually outside. This is a mirror for the farthest reaches of my psyche. In other words, it is a dark forgotten pit of bedlam and neglect. I wake up confused and sick, and I go to bed over stimulated and restless. The in between part varies greatly, such is the life of a manic depressive, but the wake/sleep transitions seem to be non-negotiable and have always been my deepest bane.

There is hope. I am abandoning my fabulous metropolitan apartment with the giant yellow kitchen and deep pink tub that is just a block from anything I could possibly want in my hip expensive neighborhood in my hip expensive city by the water. I am packing up only that which I have decided I need, putting it all into storage and the kiddo and I are moving to the woods for the summer to live in a bright red double-decker school bus. I am so friggin’ excited. It is a journey that I have put off for entirely too long. It all begins with letting go. Letting go of all of this useless bullshit that bogs down my mind and soul. Getting rid of the forgotten toys, too small clothes, broken jewelery, mementos of a time in which we no longer exist, distractions, delusions unrealistic expectations and all of the lies I have told myself when I’m sad.

One of the goals of this adventure is  to learn how to apply my myriad of daily epiphanies to reality. In this world of instant gratification, I have gone soft. In more than just my waistline. I have never learned self discipline or control. When you suffer from delusions, you learn to second guess yourself, to find the truth. The problem with that is that, well, you are always second guessing yourself and your confidence suffers and wanes. I want to learn to find that voice. The one that speaks my truths through love and compassion and teach it how to be louder than the rest of them, ultimately silencing them once and for all. There is not room in this head of mine for all of them. Especially the deceivers. You know the ones, we all have them. These little monsters of guilt and resentment. Of jealousy and despair. I came across a list I had made once when I was dealing with some stuff. It was instructions on how to pull myself out of a depressive episode. One of the steps really stuck with me and still helps to this day. Give your monsters really un-monstery names, like Kennith or Cleetus. It is impossible to be frightened or intimidated by something named Meriwether Snodgrass.

I will return to the city in the fall, find a new, quieter neighborhood and and apartment with sunlight. I will have less material crap than I do now (think minimalism, think White Room), so that will hopefully aid and abet any organizational prowess I intend to develop in the near future.

I really just long to feel like a grown up.

Till next time lovies,

CTW

Post Script, darlings: I am just barely learning HTML, clearly I still only really know how to make big bold font and back again. A point in the direction of tutorials would be most appreciated. Thanks!!