Feeling My Way Through

The Glorious Light through our Kitchen Window
There are two things I want to share with you.  What does Home mean? And walking through this life with an open heart.
I will start with walking through this life with an open heart. This morning, the thought of roses and thorns came to mind and than I tossed that thinking it sounded a bit harsh. The truth is, though, that is how I feel sometimes well maybe most of the time. I feel like I am walking in a world of roses and thorns.
The other day, we walked up the hill, through the woods to check the water level on the storage tanks. On our way, we looked down, and found a pile of soft grey petals. Feathers gently lifting in the breeze. Immediately, I thought grouse. We haven\’t seen her for a couple of days. Usually, she finds us pecking and scratching her way down the dirt road to the gardens.  
Did a fox get her?  One of the grey ones that poops wild berries on our trail to make sure he is seen.  Or was it an owl? Or will she return in a couple more days. She\’s been missing before. I could feel the pain, a soft touch, that maybe we will not see her again. I think that is why I am always excited to see her when she does come. I call out to her. I make sure the memory of her imprints, so I don\’t forget her.
One morning, years ago, I had coffee with a friend, a fellow animal person. I asked her, how she feels, how she thinks about things. I was surprised when she confided in me that she doesn\’t see things as deeply as I do, although I know she feels deeply. She has dedicated her life to animal rescue. 
I can\’t stop thinking, and trying to understand things. I told her as I looked down at my coffee cup in the diner years ago, that I see a story in the coffee cup, a story about the people in the booth next to us. I am filled with stories overflowing, they never stop, the words wanting someone to write them so they can be known.
The other day, my friend Jon, wrote a beautiful post about my life and writing on his blog at http://www.bedlamfarm.com
He wrote that I was homeless. At first I was a little taken aback. Am I homeless? Really?  Omg. I guess I am. If anyone writes the truth, it is Jon. I am homeless. I don\’t live on the streets. I don\’t beg for money. I don\’t take government assistance. I have family. Friends. I work (except now during COVID). I have savings. I have good credit. What kind of prejudice am I keeping to judge the homeless who are as diverse as any of us?
Yet, here I am homeless. Without a home since the early summer of 2010, moving from place to place on my own kind of journey. For me it is a kind of choice. I refuse, refuse to work forty plus hours a week at almost fifty five as the earth clock ticks to live in a sub standard apartment struggling to make it, locked in a job that is going nowhere fast. 
Instead, I choose to remain homeless, a nomadic, on a journey to find myself along the way and to experience as many sunrises, sunsets, animals, oceans, people, and land on the trails that open before us.
What does home mean?  There are few times I have felt as much home as I do now. The one home I did fall in love with, confident I would die there in my late nineties, with animals and gardens surrounding me was taken away. Did my heart break then from the loss. Is that another reason I refuse to create another \”home\” relying on home, here, in the middle of my chest beating my own rhythm.
Maybe. Maybe.
This morning, here with coffee by my side, the rain drums on the roof. It is still dark out, I can see the shadows of trees waving in the distance. In my dreams last night, we found horses on the trail. They were running wild towards us, kicking and prancing, wanting to play. I communicated I was too little, to play, I didn\’t want to get hurt. One of the horses, a red, pushed her head into my chest like my horse Reanna used to do. I laid my head on hers and we breathed together for what felt like hours until I knew it was time for us to continue, my partner and I. We got back on the trail, leaving the horses and I knew in my heart they were safe.
That was what was the most important to me. In the dream. I wanted to make sure the horses were safe.


Published by As the Road Wanders

Travel Blogger and Traveler

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