Homecoming

Learning to welcome the black sheep. Or maybe it was a doe...

Cold, Dark, Still

Even here,

When I wait,

Something stirs.

I sit in my shed, nothing but silence, pure white snow gently falling, heaving blankets hanging on the evergreens and a delicate lace adorning bare limbs. Wild, beautiful stillness. I come here with no other agenda than to “be with myself.”  Come home to my SELF—with no one to interrupt my thoughts, and nothing to disturb my inner sanctum. LOL. Inner sanctum.

For as long as I can remember my heart’s been set on a fantasy that has me feeling at home and eternally peaceful in the most beautiful setting—like a hallmark scene rolling into eternity. I teleport into bliss just by plopping my body in a lovely place, alone, for hours on end. 

I’ve dreamed of a space where nothing can touch me.  Where I’m impervious to all the waves of this life, of other people and their storms.  Not surprising in light of my emotionally tumultuous childhood.  Those of us who’ve lived in battlegrounds long for a haven, for a peaceful home. And I think that’s where the vision for my shed up north was born.

But coming home to myself has proven to be elusive, if not impossible, at times. It’s this crazy human condition—an endless search for what is not here—and it’s never more apparent than when we stop the external noise. The things I should be doing (meditate!), the things that aren’t just right (too chilly!), the things that feel more interesting at the moment (phone!). What unfolds is not peace, stillness, and love, but a cacophony of chatter that are in complete contrast to my surroundings.  But I stay here, and I wait.

And then I hear something, even before I see her. A HUFFing sound, two, maybe three exhales, and I spot her—a large doe moving my direction, through the trees. She stops, and looks directly at me.  She sees me, and sees me seeing her.  A long, motionless staring contest. And then she stomps.  Eyes still locked— stomp!  I see you, stomp! And after several minutes- she moves out of view, behind the trees, looking back every so often, before disappearing from sight. 

I didn’t know what she came to tell me, until I went back to the house. Heard my edgy tone when speaking to Walt, the criticisms flying out of my mouth, the subdued “back off” I seemed to be feeling toward everyone and everything in my life. Anger. That’s who’s been hiding in those woods. That’s who locked eyes with me.

Solitude is sometimes not the “happy place” of my imagination—but a boot camp for coming back, returning to myself, no matter who happens to reside there.  And going into my shed is s conscious decision to just BE, no matter what that feels like, or looks like.  Often, there’s such awe at the surrounding landscape, the wildness and mesmerizing beauty. It lures me out here, but once I’m done taking pictures (real and in my mind), I’m left with something very different. A niggling, a restlessness, an awareness that something is sort of hurting, that if I move just the right way I’ll feel it-like a paper cut. Like a huffing, stomping creature moving within that I don’t want to see.  Or feel. 

In a childhood, a lifetime of seeking approval, of trying to smooth over and make things better, anger becomes a foreigner. Anger adds to the chaos, disrupts the peace. It’s something to be ignored. And then, decades later, there’s a stomping, huffing creature inside that won’t stop staring back at you.  That shows up in the mirror. She’s saying, “I’m here, I know you and the parts of you that you try to hide. Even if I slip behind the trees, I will always defend your right to your space. To be exactly as you are, without apology.”  

I realized she was my spirit animal, my protector, a reminder of the fight in me.  And my assignment is to see her, listen to her, accept her.  And love her.  This is no fantasy world, and I know that my bitchy, critical voice will appear over and over again. Asking me to return to that graceful, powerful, huffing animal who showed me that I can peacefully declare my space.

There will be other visitors—lots of wolves and bobcats in this forest. And I’m not sure when the time will come to sit with them.  But I do know this, coming home will mean crossing the threshold, waiting, and receiving whomever is waiting on the other side.