Friday, July 29, 2011

close by

I have spent more time with my kid in the last week than I have in the last year and a half. It is awesome. And very very strange. I catch myself a lot - thinking matt is around here too. Clearly, my kid is back, then I must have woken up and things are back to normal. More times than usual, I catch myself thinking "oh, I should get this for matt." Or I see his truck and think it's him before I realize, no. We sold his truck. He will not be there behind that wheel. As great as it is to talk about matt, remember our life, do a lot of our normal old things, it is also oddly jarring. I think I am back in denial. Or something. Some strange new place. In some ways, I feel like I have been almost remembering him "wrong." Not wrong. Just - mine. No. I don't know. I don't know this new place at all. Maybe having J. back just brings color into some black and white parts. Yeah. That's wrong too. I think maybe I have been alone in this for so long that having someone in it with me, someone so intimately inside our life - it's just a little strange. I'm a little disoriented.

I've also been out of the online loop for awhile too, and I find I feel a little more calm and at ease when I'm on, reading and checking in. I'd let go of going to san diego. Being online again, I have alerted the universe that I would now like to go. Now, it is a down to the wire thing - if the gods and universe find airfare for me, I can go. I can go because someone else is awesome and kind and has offered money for the rest. Right now, it is a maybe. It is a wait and see, and hope that the waiting does not increase airfare to the point where the "see" part of that equation isn't enough. So - maybe. If not, I will lift up my tea mug and give a variation of the passover assertion: next year, in san diego.

And this, from Rumi, in my inbox this morning. I cannot think too hard on "when eroded rock becomes sand," with all the images that brings back in me, but it is beautiful all the same.

That Last Moment

No-one ever sees that last moment
The eroded rock becomes sand
But if they did they would hear
The Sea singing.

- Jalal-ud-Din Rumi



  1. If I wanted to help out a bit with costs for SD, could I? Let me know. Can you do paypal?

  2. that is very kind of you bev. I do have paypal. Need to see if it is bank account or card connected (see? I was paying attention when you were coaching Carolyn.) I'll send you an email.

  3. Hugs beautiful. I hope you do make it to SD. Wish I was going, but a logistical and financial nightmare from here.

  4. Good. Let me know when you have got things set up. I wiukd really like you to be able to go to CW.

    By the way, I meant to comment about disorienting feelings. When I travel, it is not unusual for me to arrive at some former campsite of my own from the past 3 years - a campsite which Don never visited - and have this strange feeling that he is there - has been waiting for me. I think that is how I would best describe how it feels. And then, this spring, when I was doing so much trail building on this property - which was only purchased a year ago - I would be busy using the chainsaw and get the feeling that I was being watched and that the watcher was Don. I would stand up from sawing a log and feel like he should be there, and that he HAD been here working on the place with me last summer. Go figure on where I got that from. So often, I find I will be thinking that one thing happened, while my brain has to keep correcting the facts - saying, "No, no, it didn't happen that way. Don was never here. Don't you remember?" These sensations are always very disorienting as they require part of my brain to keep things straightened out - sort of like when you are walking in a precarious place and have to assign part of your brain to watching your footing and your balance, while the rest of your brain is busy figuring out where to step next so that you don't go over the edge of a cliff. Sometimes, It causes me some brain pain to keep this stuff sorted out. The disorientation seems to happen more when I am tired, stressed, and particularly when I am under the constant stress of doing my nomad thing -- yiu know how I love my autumns in the road, but they can be so incredibly stressful at times. I thought these odd sensations would become less over time, but in fact, it happened even more frequently during my third season of solitary wandering through the west - especially when I was camping in the back country in Utah. I suspect it is that my mind is busy creating false memories and now just has so much more fuel to work with as I add yet another dozen or so campsites, etc... into the memory mix. Maybe all of this has to do with living such an incredibly solitary life. Dunno. Don't worry much about it, but it has become yet another facet of my experience of traveling alone through life.

  5. though it is super-odd feeling for me to do so, I'm trying to be a good, at least decent, receiver. If you feel like you want to contribute to airfare (bleh, I do not like this.) apparently you can donate via paypal at mmdevine at ********peacemaildotcom****** without all those *** and spaces. If I don't get close enough to get airfare, I'll send back whatever gets donated. Sort of like a mini version of kickstarter: funds get raised or funds go back.

  6. Thanks, megan. That sounds fair enough. I hope you will be able to raise enough funds to make the trip to SD.

  7. yeah, it is VERY hard to ask for help. Hard in that "I need to pay attention: why is this so hard?" way. For me, it is much harder than not asking, accepting that you're on your own and this is the way it is and You Have Less Than You Need. Why is having less than you need ok if no one else is involved? (Question for myself; no reflection on your situation.) Struggling with this a lot these days. Hopefully a lesson is forthcoming.

  8. I'm pretty good at receiving - just really do not like asking. Freely given offers, yes. Making requests, not so much.