Sunday, March 2, 2014


You must learn one thing.
The world was made to be free in.
Give up all the other worlds
except the one to which you belong.
Sometimes it takes darkness and the sweet
confinement of your aloneness
to learn
anything or anyone
that does not bring you alive
is too small for you.
© David Whyte: Excerpted from SWEET DARKNESS

I am discovering several times over those things that are "too small" for me. I call them course corrections. I am a deliberate and conscious sifter of my own experiences, and I am sifting through those things that don't "sift" well with me. I could write on and on about them, but that just doesn't feel good to me to dwell on what I don't want in my life. Instead, I'm discovering those things that do feel good, and when I see them or experience them they feel better than I could have ever imagined.

One thing is my reconnection with nature. Right now that reconnection is more in my mind and on the computer than being outside as I am not one who loves being frostbitten again.

I found a house built in its natural surroundings in Thailand. It took six weeks and $8,000 to build. It is built in nature and with nature, and I have revisited the website over and over again because it feels good to watch the video where the front door opens and I can see myself walking right through. I can see myself living in that house, coffee brewing in the "kitchen", showering in the bathroom, sitting in the bedroom window, relaxing in the hammock outside, meditating by the pond, wandering through the vegetation, and on and on and on.

I realize how disconnected from the earth I have been especially since leaving Colorado in 2008. I loved hiking in the mountains and walking along the Yampa river. My next stop was Texas where I immersed myself in a concrete jungle, and my earthly connection diminished. The walking I did there was between buildings on paved streets and concrete sidewalks. The summers were too hot to be outside, and my only solace was inside air-conditioned rooms. On the flip side has been the harsh winters I've endured farther northeast where being outside in blizzards has been treacherous and soul-numbing.

I had felt my inner strength grow while planting my garden last year. I loved sticking my hands in the dirt, plopping in seeds, and tapping down dirt. I would sit amongst my crops and read in the mornings with a hot cup of coffee. I watched bees sit on my snap pea blossoms. I read little while gazing at the butterflies lighting on the pole beans. I made myself a home out there with vines growing up the fence, and sunflowers shading me from the sun. I ate my meals of mesclun leaves, snap peas, pole beans, carrots, cherry tomatoes, and green peppers while weeding and thinning. Birds provided me with easy listening, and baby rabbits entertained me immensely.

I remembered the wealth of growing my own food, the experience it provided me of self-sustenance. I was rich in my garden. I had plenty. I had untainted vegetables. I had longed-for sunshine on my shoulders. I had it all.

Now, I'm creating a life of utter fulfillment. I'm going next where the growing season is longer, where I can get my hands in the dirt more often, and where I can be around others who understand that need for earth connection. I am going where sunshine is revered and not admonished with long sleeves, caps, and lathering of sunscreen. The sun is not my enemy. It never has been.

I'm going where I can live with pets, where I can live with those who love animals in their lives. These conditions are important to me. Do I have to have them to be happy? No, but I want animals and growing my own food in my life. These things fill me. I want to be surrounded by people who cherish the same things, who love our Mother, who appreciate the sacred in what She has to offer us.

This brings me alive. Anything less is too small.

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