My own Walden

Dear blog,

   There have been very many hot days inbetween my last posts. So hot in fact that I have been peering to unusual places, wondering. Hmm… could I turn this space into my writing space.

An old outbuilding. Could I make it comfy here?

I’ll give it a bit of cleaning, and then go somewhere else, and do the same thing, feeling the almost right, but not quite right.

            I’ve been rummaging.

            Looking at old items, and things that I’ve put in boxes, and unearthing them, and getting out some of my favorite childhood treasures, and placing them where I can enjoy them, and see them.

            Why have I kept this in a box?

            Why haven’t I enjoyed it more. Looked at it, loved it?

            Stones, and rocks, and feathers, and old coins, and gems, and shells, and things that are beautiful.

I feel like I’m looking for something.

I even went into my closet, and emptied it out, and thought it would be a great place to stick my writing desk. It really felt like an okay idea.

I found some lost items.

And consolidated my clothing.

Then as I got my upstairs computer disassembled to move it downstairs. I decided my closet felt too closed in. I missed the window, and the vibe.

So I kept looking.

I found an old air conditioner, and hooked that up.

It worked great.

            Yet, for all it’s goodness, my computer was so overheated today, I thought it would take a long time for my room to cool down.

            So I got in my bathing suit, got wet, and grabbed my keyboard, and my mouse, and my laptop, and went into my tent.

            But the tent was too hot.

            So I went into my downstairs room.

            And it feels pretty okay.

            I feel pretty clever, realizing how much a good keyboard and a mouse make it feel like I’m writing upstairs, when I’m downstairs.

Though, I’ll have to get wet again soon, because it’s so hot. It’s hot enough to melt words….

And my hair is getting dry, again, for the millionth time.

         
   I had an obsidian necklace my sister made for me with hemp cord, and it melted to the rock this morning on my chest, as I was out in the sun, playing my singing bowls. The morning sunrise was beautiful. The cats were waiting outside my tent. 

Here’s a video of part of my morning outside my little pop tent, with the birds singing, and the alfalfa. And my two new singing bowls.  

            Hmmm. Now the wind is really a blowing, and dust is flying, and clouds are building. I’m wondering what kind of conditions it will be outside tonight, because if you sleep outside as I have been doing, nearly every day, as much as possible, since my last post, you wonder about these things.

            I feel like I have been going on my own David Thoreau journey.

            My own Walden.

            My pond, the ditch.

            Being with my own bit of earth.

             Swimming nearly every day. 

            Seeing the land in ways that I've not quite seen it.

            Learning the wisdom of the ground, and the sky at the same time.

          Feeling that somehow we are gifting something to each other, something that can't be seen, or touched, or explained. 

            In rain.

            And thunder.

            In heat.

            With trains honking.

            And Goats goating.

            And roosters roostering.

            The stars, staring.

            The sky skying.

            Ground wisdom.

           Star wisdom.

          It’s so alive, it makes you feel more awake, and alive too.

          It imparts some of its energy to you.

          When I first started this experiment, it was nice until the ground eventually got hard.

And the cats, were pesty.

            And the bugs started bugging.

            And the mosquitoes told their friends.

            I decided that if I was going to try this experiment longer than a week, I'd have to make myself a bit more comfy.

            I also wanted to find a place that I could camp, without smashing the grass.

            Somewhere private.

        

    Somewhere with shade, and also a view of the night's sky.

            I set out like an Indian looking for a place to pitch my tepee.

            My sister had found a spot on the other side of the yard, and quite liked it. She was sleeping on a cushion, with no tent, without minding the cats, and dog, and bugs, and sleeping pretty soundly. She’s so down to earth, and easy going about such things, she’s not like anyone you’ve ever met. 

             I moved to my old garden, where the trees had grown up too much to make it much of a garden.

            I cleared out the old weeds, and dead branches, and smoothed the ground, and cleared away old junk.

            I decided that while I was cleaning out old stuff, there was an old backpack with emergency items in that I had tossed out of one of our emergency shelters, when it got flooded the spring before.  I had taken it out of the shelter, but I didn't have the courage to clean out its contents.

            This time, I thought I should, as I wanted my space to be tidy. 

            So I did.

    
    I opened it up, and braved the mold, and old MRE packs, and old food items. There was a mini New testament, and several other food items.  I found several little candles, and right next to them, were three silver coins, one of them was platinum 100 dollar coin. 

      

      Worth much more now than when my mom had placed inside the backpack.

            I thought it was a good sign, so I kept on making camp.

            I got out my pop tent, that I bought last year, and never used.

     It was so satisfying to open it up, and poof!

            Magic tent.

            My own house. 

            It was perfect. 

            I brought my cushions, and blankets, and my solar lights, and felt quite satisfied with my camp.

            At night, the stars were oh so beautiful, a much better view than so close to the house. And it kept the bugs out!

          I felt like I was camping in some magic land. This was my yard?

          How rich I am.

          How perfect this was.

          Though, I didn’t realize that I had pitched my tent so close to the barn. 

In the morning the sun hit my tent and warmed it up so quickly, I decided I better move it somewhere else.

             I asked my sister if I could make my tent near where she was at. As it was shaded, and further away from the barn.

          I found a spot where I could still see the stars, and also have some shade.

            I had a little empty chicken coup where I wanted to pitch my tent.

            After moving that, the ground was very uneven.

            So I dug.

            And dug. and in my cleaning dirt and junk. I found three differing wings. So I also thought that was a good sign. 

            I felt very primal, and wanted the ground to be soft, so I watered the ground.

            Then I sprinkled sea salt over the dirt, and old ashes from our fireplace, and then some fine silica sand, that sparkled in the sunlight, and some peppermint leaves.

            I felt very primal, and earthy. I Like I was making myself a little circle of protection.

After the ground dried out, I placed my tent in my little spot.

     

      It felt very satisfying.

Some part of me felt like it was a rite of passage. My own vision quest.

            Finally.

          My tent was perfect. It has a place at the top for me to see the stars.

          I feel like I’ve finally have the space I was seeking. And it’s perfect.

          So perfect that I’m amazed that it took me this long to find it.

Morning sky

           It's been nearly a month now.

            And I feel like I’ve finally, finally starting to really appreciate my bit of earth in such a way that feels like I’m home.

I have a view of the trees, the stars, and also the benefit of being on the ground.

Also I have a knowing in the back of my mind, that if the weather gets too bad, and the bugs, get to biting, and the goats get too noisy, I can go back inside, and try again another day.

          The weirdest part is, after sleeping outside, no mater how comfy your inside mattress feels, there’s something you feel is missing.

The house feels a little juiceless.  Missing some invisible factor that only one who knows what I’m speaking of could understand.

            It's a little weird, because my sister and I are enjoying it so much, that we are worried when winter comes.

            The other night it was storming, rain was a drizzling, lighting was flashing.

            My sister, has this fold out cushion, and she sleeps on top of that, with a pile blankets, then we found this tenty thing to put over her, so the bugs don't eat her.

          But it was really a raining.

          A lot.

                     I came inside to get a few items to protect my sister from the rain, and to close my window in my room, to protect my koto, and realized, that you wouldn't have even known there was a storm going on, from the way it felt on the inside.

            It felt stale, and old, and tired, and not alive.

            I'd just been with the storm, felt the rain on my skin, felt the mud and brought it into my tent with me.

            The cool breeze was there, to tell me about life.

            Rain a drizzling.

            Lighting flashes.

            A star burns a road through the sky.

            But inside the house, protected from all the elements, you wouldn't know that there was a storm at all.

          Inside, when you sleep, more often than not, it’s a numbing sleep, not a recharging.

          Outside is a sleep that feels unique, sometimes so wakeful it feels as if the ground itself is telling you when to sleep, and when to close your eyes, and the sky tells you when to wake up. They both whisper stories, and bedtime rhymes, and wisdom that feels as earthy as it is.

           Not hardly a whiff of a breeze passes through this crypts we call our houses.

            Where are the great big windows to let in light?

          Roofs that open, decks, and halls with places for plants to grow?

            Where are the places where sun can get in?

            Where is the opening where the moon can peer and see itself reflected in your eyes?

            The contrast, of inside, and outside, once you've really get with it, feels huge.

            And something from the outside starts seeping inside you, a raw, real, earthy knowing, how much we've all missed, from being so far away from the ground.

          So far from the trees.

          So far from the sky.

          Hardly looking at the stars in our sleepless nights, only turning to screens to numb pain that needs to be looked at and felt.

 I once visited Walden's pond, I rowed it, with my two sister's, in a cano,  it was beautiful. This was before I was acquainted nature. Before I had even known about the  of the book, Walden, or really felt my own Walden in myself.

But this July I have felt a small fraction of what it feels like to go into my own woods.

Seeking the simplicity of nature.

Feeling my soul unfold.

In my own backyard. Without having to go on a journey outside of myself.

I think God saw a hidden Walden somewhere inside of me, because, little, by little, moment by moment, God has been uncovering my own hidden paradise, where I could actually appreciate the spaces I've had around me my entire life.

My own nooks, and corners, and my own ground houses, and tepees, and tents, and canals, and rivers. My own goats, and cats, and birds, and dogs, and alfalfa, and roofs, and old buildings that need a bit of love.

Mostly the things we want are just our own presence in them.

Our own undivided looking, and being.

A wholeness of our own isness.

A knowing of what is real, and good, and a raw appreciation of it, because we can see it as ourselves.

These lands have been there this whole time, the treasures inherited by those who find them inside themselves.

My own little patches of shade, and sunlight.

My own platinum and silver mine.

Finding my own wings right on the ground.

My own collection of stars at my fingertips.

My own space.

Something real.

And when its claimed, you sprinkle salt, and ashes, and silica to mark it, and say, this is a sacred space.

My tent is here.

I am here.

On the ground.

I’m looking up, watching the stars until they start to watch me.  

 

 

Moon tide rising, and the earth's heartbeat

I thought I’d stop by, a second time, today, and wave. Much like what I’ve been doing, at night, sitting with the moon, as it rises. 

The moon and earth has been so beautiful, I thought it deserved a post all it's own.

This past Sunday, I trekked across the field alone, watching the sun set, till I reached the canal. 

I waited. 

I was a little confused, thinking my sister would be there before me. As we had talked about swimming 45mins ago, or so, through my window.

          But we surmised that we had to be clever, and navigate around mouths, and hungry souls, that might snag us, and move us, and keep us in a whirlpool, instead of where we wanted to flow.

            So I slipped out the back, and no one noticed.

            I waited, as I watched the sun set, beautiful, golden, magic.

            "Where are you?" I pinged my sister---in my mind.

            The sunset was so beautiful, I just sat, and watched, waiting.

            Not long after.

            I saw her bike zipping down the path, with her dog, Honey.

            "Where were you?"

            She shrugged.

            Everybody was trying to get me moving, and I got snagged, and they sent me on a mission to chase a goat.

            I laughed. "They were calling my name, too. Trying to get me to do the same thing. But I didn't think it was a big deal. So I did what you would do, and slipped out the back. And I'm glad I did."

             We both giggled.

 
           Glad to be outside. We both dipped into the canal, and watched the sun set, as we floated down it, sometimes swimming against the currant to stretch our muscles, sometimes floating with it, just watching the beautiful rim of golden clouds.

            As soon as we neared the place were we get out, I saw the orange-yellow moon peak its head over the mountains.

            I pointed to the moon, and called for my sister to watch it, as she had her ears in the water.

            When I caught her attention, she stood up in the water, and raised her hands, and started jumping, and singing, wonderful hallelujahs.

   We both just watched a video talking about the energy of this specific super moon, and how it was a moon that ended an 18 year cycle.

        We both got out out of the canal, and spoke our truths under the rising moon. "Stolen power, and energy is returned to its source. Truth, and love are rising, and remembering their goodness. Yes." These were some of our words we spoke, and cast our spells of truth, feeling our kinship with spirit, asking Spirit to be the one in control, directing where we should go.

           Yes.

            We both watched the moon float, higher, and higher.

        It floating in the sky. Us that had just been floating in water.

            Huge, and beautiful, a wonderful beautiful, orb.

            We both felt as if we were in the right place.

            Everyone where they wanted to be.

            Us, in nature, floating where we felt more free.

            Watching the moon, wet, and cold, and earthy, and alive.

            We both gabbed our towels, and said we'd meet on the chicken coup roof, as she was on her bike, and I had walked.

            So there, we reconvened, and spoke of the times, and of the ending of cycles, and of the beginning of them, as if we were gypsies, women who were remembering ourselves, wanting nothing more than to expand in our own rhythms, and to be as close to the earth, and sky as the moon.

            To set the tides, and to bring things to light that need to be better seen.

            To be that which creates cycles, and seasons, not the one ones being spun, or pulled, or moved by anything else but Spirit.

            Movers ourselves, and lights, and shakers, willing to be alone, and together.

            Wanting only to sing our soul song.

            When we went inside, I decided it was too hot in the house, and stale.

            I've been watching a lot of videos about grounding, and how it's good for your spirit, and body. So I decided to move all my pillows, and covers, and took my memory foam mattress outside, and made a little bed on my lawn, and watched the moon, and the stars, and the clouds.

            It was a beautiful evening.

            I slept on the lawn the night before, because the heat has skyrocketed, and the house has been so hot, I was glad for the cool ground.

            I was glad to sleeping outside again.

       

     The moon was beautiful. The crickets hummed. The clouds looked ethereal, lit up with the light of the moon, painting them in silver, and misty grays.

            I saw a shooting star.

           The trains passed by, loud, and clacky, all through the night, they kept humming through too, though not as relaxing sounding as the crickets. 

            Night birds, singing.

            My memory foam mattress ended up deflating, and It felt good bad. The ground felt friendly, and healing. I surmised that my teenaged self was much more creaky of bone, than my self of now.

            Though, I must say that second night of sleeping on the ground I had a much harder time falling asleep. I kept watching the moon, and it kept watching me, and then there were the stars, and the clouds.

            There are so many things in the night that keep you alert.

            But when I did sleep, it was right as the sun rose, and I dreamed about magic apricots seeds that I was gathering to plant.

          My third night sleeping out, I had a bad headache, but I felt the ground calling me, like a mother. It felt healing, and almost like a warm embrace. I can't really explain it, though I felt as if my heart, and the earths heart felt a kinship.

        And I felt myself a little sad, feeling and wondering if I had been sleeping inside all these years, connected to things that weren't really me, thinking the outside, was a threat.

        All these years, nature, and man, feel apart.

        When we could be so much more harmonious.

        Perhaps we could learn much by sleeping with nature. Maybe we'd know who we were. Maybe the earth would reveal her secrets, maybe she would teach us her wisdom.

        Maybe she could heal our bodies.

        Maybe she knows how many lifetimes we have lived. How many times we have been buried. Maybe she knows how many times our hearts have stopped, and started.

        But maybe we are the ones that don't know.

        Maybe we don't know her at all. Maybe no hearts, awake, have laid, and slept with her ground as a pillow.   

        Maybe nature will not be your friend, until you know you are nature.

        Until nature knows you, and you see yourself in it.

        I wanted to sleep outside again, last night, but my head was aching too badly. But my sister followed suit, and she slept out instead of me.

        And first thing when I woke up, she popped into my room, and said, with wide eyes that she slept outside.

        I asked her what she thought.

        She said that it was spiritual. Sleeping on the ground.

        I nodded. Glad she too, felt it.

        We both told our experience, glad that someone else felt the magic too. We both felt some switch was flipped. And we both felt a kinship to the earth that we haven't felt before.

        Connected to life, and to the spiritual realms beneath the ground. The earthy alchemy of the dirt.

        The moon-tide rising.

        The ground hugging her.

        Electric.

        Beautiful.

        Wakeful sleep.

        We both haven't remembered a time that we actually felt this way about sleeping outside, maybe since small children.

        Though, the strange thing is, once you spend time sleeping on the ground, once you go inside, the inside feels foreign, and you feel odd, like you don't fit in to your box, like you thought you did.

        So sleeping outside is not perfectly comfortable.

        For it makes you feel uncomfortable in ways you didn't know.

        But you have to try it yourself.

        Alone.

        And it feels a little uncomfortable at first with no tent.

        And you don't sleep like you do in your house.

        It is not a numbing sleep.

        It is a waking sleep.

        And with only a little mattress to keep you away from the ground, you feel the essence of the earth, and yourself.

        And then there's that feeling of the dark. And once you settle into it, you start sensing things, and things start sensing you.

  And the moon rises, and its light settles on your forehead.

And we both look. 

And we both, wonder. 

And we both silently watch, and appreciate the looking, and the watching. 

Setting tides without and fanfare in our own silent, moon ways. 

Bringing to light seasons.  

And dreams, and visions. 

And things both beneath, and above. 

Full moon magic. 

Present.  

A witness of one another. 

Everything else besides our seeing, is darkness. 

Shadow. 

A bird calls in the darkness. 

An owl hoots. 

A Coyote's song cuts through the night. 

 Clouds lit up by moonshine. 

A star dripping across the sky. 

Seeing and being, and dreaming, and pausing. 

Gifts of the night. 

Stillness. 

And if you sleep on the ground, on the grass, more often than not, an alertness overtakes you. 

You look for some sort of foe, as you can hear everything. But you can see, only sense. 

And you stay awake until you can no longer keep your eyes open. 

And you see that the only thing you were scared of was your own lack of vision. 

And when you started to be one with the ground, and allowed the night to teach you. 

You were finally able to sleep.  

So. 

I stop in. 

And say hi. 

Tides are rising. 

Moon is rising. 

Everyone is rising. 

Heat is rising. 

Water is rising. 

Souls. 

Consciousness.  

Dreams. 

Blossoming to the surface, and in the moonshine. 

We see only moonlight. 

Whatever is right below her. 

And what she covers in her light. 

Is secondhand sunlight. 

The moon likes second-hand things. 

Makes them into dreams. 

    

     And maybe she likes my second-hand sunlight, as I watch and sleep underneath her, remembering her lover, the sun.

         And the sun will see the moon reflected in me as I spend time under its heat.

         And we'll all remember, that we are children of the light.