It's interesting, showing up with grief in community. As I've said several times since my arrival to Salt Gulch, my heart just might break open here. It has. This is the space, this is the time. Grief does not come daily but regularly. I have grown to recognize the beauty in it without attaching any other name. Hiking down to a canyon the other day, I wept at it's magnificence. The sandstone walls heard my cry and the creek below received my tears. The land never rejects me. As I waded through the waters I felt alive and strong in my Self.
Last week I found myself longing for companionship. To be held in the arms of an Other, to feel a gentle touch or look that only lovers share. It's an interesting time for this to come up as I am living in a small community of eight. The greater community of Boulder town which is about twenty minutes away, doesn't leave a lot of room for romantic interest with it's booming population of two hundred. There is a special someone I share a deep connection with who is thousands of miles away. Since I do not have phone service, my case, for now at least, could easily be seen as hopeless. But hell, you never know. I honor my longing as I honor my grief. In this dry season I am learning new ways to connect with others in love.
For months now, I have had the feeling that I am moving into the next phase of my life. Since coming to the farm, this feeling has increased exponentially. The seeds that I planted (literally and figuratively) in Anza Borrego are coming to life. In order for this to take place, seeds first have to die. I was thinking about my own impending death the other day. Sounds morbid I know but I do not feel that if I were to die tomorrow, there is nothing that is going to keep me from dieing in peace. The next day, death on mind, but birth. The birth of a child, a bird, a plant. I have had a few, incredibly intense experiences in the last month or so with animal processing. Although very intense for me, these close encounters with the cycle of life have been very moving for me and played a large role in my process. As I move into this next phase of life, I am well aware of a death of sorts taking place. The death of old ways of being and belonging to this world, saying yes and birthing my gifts as they begin to manifest. I know that some of my recent grief is intertwined with this shifting, and through that grief I am honoring the Wanderer inside of me.
Part of me feels a great need for a human mentor right now. Although I have many teachers it occurred I long for the support of someone who I can sit face to face with, who understand. At the same time, I feel I am stepping into an Elder role myself and I need to first look inside for the leader. Just as I was asking for a mentor, I had a beautiful conversation with a friend of mine at the farmers market yesterday about this shift and my gifts and she understood.
For now, the farm is my mentor, and the land my lover. Last night, I gathered around the fire with new friends, good music and food. This morning I milked Dolly the goat, one of my favorite activities. Last week, we built a beautiful cob/stone oven. I loved fitting the stone together and working with my friends. We also prepared the rest of the garden beds for planting this week. As I prepare my inner garden, I'm excited to watched the seeds grow, an apprentice to my soul.
