When silence speaks

View from our Taos house

I came across some old photos of the house we built in New Mexico, and it really made me nostalgic for the days when I thought I was going to live in an adobe house, or in this case, old adobe barn converted to a house. It was a wonderful place, the old dairy barn from the hippy commune next door, the commune featured in the movie "Easy Rider." How much better could it get? I had the sage brush surrounding me and the Taos mountains looking protectively down upon our little homestead. It was so right, until it went so wrong.

Looking back, I can see the nudges from the Universe, the little whispers that told me it wasn't right, but I allowed myself to be pulled further into a shared dream and I couldn't see my way out of the rose colored room until I ran smack into a wall. Face first. Talk about a reality check. Things went from rosy and magical to downright depressing as our dream house turned into the house that couldn't be built. I began to attach bad feelings to the place, and saw signs everywhere that said "Get out! You don't belong here in this art community." I felt like I was being rejected by the great and mysterious Taos mountain. And maybe I was.

Only in Taos

We ended up back in Colorado, the black hole of my existence (it keeps pulling me back, no matter how far I go or how long I stay away), and a friend told me that perhaps the great mountain that I grew up in the shadow of was even more powerful than the one in New Mexico. Maybe. But I had no love for Pikes Peak, not like I loved the essence of New Mexico...the quirkiness, the heat, the snow, the mud, the environmentalists, the artists, the writers, the movie stars, the sage brush, the ravens and bears...all of it. I was so in love with a place that was more, it was a state of being, and it was me.

I spent years dreaming of going to the land of the lizard, the home of my spirit, and when I made it there, I blew it, pulled into a romance of convenience, of mindless existing, and my spirit stopped speaking. I spent the first year in Taos, wondering where my spirituality had gone, where the guardian spirits that used to walk along beside me, had gotten themselves off to. Everywhere was silence. It was the most beautiful place I could ever hope to be, and my heart sighed every single time I walked out the door of our little rented adobe house. When I looked at the sage, I couldn't help but smile. I was home. But it was too quiet. The animals didn't come to bring me messages, the wind no longer whispered, and the river's babbling was a foreign language to me. What had I done to lose myself in the land where I thought I was going to find it all?

I hated the silence. I hated that the Universe seemed closed to me. I wasn't meeting the right people and nothing seemed to be falling into place. But I refused to listen, refused to give up my dreams of latilla fences and adobe walls. Funny how it all works out and how sometimes we aren't given a choice anymore. I was being pulled away from the land of my dreams and back to a place I couldn't wait to get away from.

I still don't know for sure why I couldn't live in Taos, but I hope all of New Mexico isn't closed to me. I still harbor great fantasies about Earthships and sagebrush and quiet nights full of stars and clean air. I know this uninteresting house we live in now isn't it either...is it? And someday, maybe if I'm ever so lucky, I can return to the land of my heart and spend some small amount of my life hanging out in an adobe house in the middle of the high mountain desert, and maybe I'll even paint a little as I pay homage to the late, great Georgia O'Keefe, who understood and gave in to her love of the New Mexican, desert land.

Now I understand that the silence was the message, and if I had taken the time to shut up and stop looking, to enjoy the quiet and connect to it, I would have found a peace so pure it would have eliminated any doubt I was having about my connection to all things spiritual. For in the silence is the knowing--the greatness of the Tao, the power of the Universe, everything and nothing all wrapped up into one big, beautiful ball of wholeness. In the silence. By searching, I missed what was staring me in the face. And maybe it wasn't about Taos not wanting me there, but about my own closed mindedness, which the energy reflected out and away from such a creative and loving place. Or, maybe my Ego got scared of losing itself in the silence and created a situation where it could gain the upper hand by sending me out of such a spiritual and enlightened space.

One day soon, I will again attempt to venture south into the land where my heart lives, to see how it all "feels" to me now, ten years later. And I will remain open to whatever may come, even the blessed silence, for in that simple meditation of listening to the nothing, I can feel myself as I am connected to everything else. Maybe that is enough.

The sun shines again

It's finally warming up into the 40's again. Feels like a heat wave compared to the frigid cold we were having. The goats are spending their nights back outside in their own little shelter.

Spent the weekend delivering Christmas presents to friends and family. I always make tins full of fudge and cookies to give out for the holidays. It's great fun and I think everyone should have fudge for Christmas. It's one of the things I can give when money is tight.

Still dreaming of big old farmhouses, but now I'm thinking of New Mexico landscapes. Do the two go together? The lots are still for sale next to our property here, and I wonder about buying one or more to add to our homestead. We should research what that would take. So many dreams, so little money.

My darling teenage girl is thinking about going into the Job Corps. Montana. So far away. I think it may be a positive step for her, if she can get in. A planned out future and goals to work for, so when she finishes she will be successful and self-sufficient, and possibly happy. It may turn into a very good thing and a wonderful opportunity.

And I am trying so hard to get back into an exercise routine. Sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn't. Today was a good day and I did my Wii yoga and strength training and ran for twenty minutes, which is about four miles in Wii distance. Not bad. I sure feel better both physically and emotionally when I exercise. I also am trying to write in my journal on a more frequent basis, and although I'm not writing anything significant or particularly artistic, at least I am writing again. Perhaps one day I will begin to write poetry again.

I lost a friend a while back and that weighs heavy on my heart sometimes. He was a phenominal poet, an artist, a kind soul, a colleague in the local art cause, and a beautiful person. He took his own life and I feel a lot of pain over that. He was one of the few in my city who gave local, unknown artists shows and he helped me raise funds and have an art show when I was publishing my local art magazine. Overall, he was a good guy and I will miss him horribly. I'm sorry he decided to leave, but I hope things are better for him wherever he has gone.

Mostly I still just try to get through each day, wondering how to stay present in times that are so tough, both financially and emotionally. One second at a time.

One who taught me to be alone

While the weather here has been unbelievably warm, I have to say I sort of anticipate the cold weather of Maine. Maybe. More likely I anticipate the adventure. My life used to be so full of new experiences and people, and now I have the inside of this old house and my children to keep me company. Haven't had many enlightening conversations with my two year old lately.

Been thinking a lot today about a young man I once knew several years ago. I'll call him CC for kicks. He was a source of inspiration and irritation at a point in my life when many doors were opening and some were closing. We had an interesting relationship as coworkers in a mundane world of pizza delivery. I have to admit now that those were some of the best days of my life. I was coming out of a relationship with an African circus performer (yes indeed) who I thought was my future, but that's another story. I was angry as hell and hurt as hell and hating men in general, which is a position I find myself coming back to again and again. CC was an easy target for my angst, but it turned into something more. He was so young and so American, so spiritual and yet so scared of intimate relationships. Or so I thought. He had a dream to wander off into the wilderness and live a life of solitude. He often quoted Thoreau. He was on his way to New Mexico to build his house and live a simple life, and when I heard that, I think I fell in love. I'd been dreaming of New Mexico for years and building an Earthship and living sustainably. This young man was on his way to fulfilling one of my dreams. In the beginning of our time together he once said I could come with him. Hmmm.... that changed rapidly after I scared him to death with my neediness and confusion.

CC and I had a spiritual connection that was phenomenal, but at the time I was much more aware and open to such connections. I could "feel" his presence coming before he ever got there. He could finish my sentences and seemed to be living in a corner of my head. We had great and meaningful conversations. Mostly he told me to stop acting the fool and get real. I was running around, partying with other coworkers, trying to finish my college degree and trying to stay out of love. Ha! I did a lot of things in those days that were questionable at least morally, and I often felt lost, like I couldn't find my way back to my spiritual path if someone took me by the hand and led me. CC did that, or he tried.

Looking back I realized I failed every test he gave me, if that's what they were. I was hurt by his disconnection and longed for a real relationship, so I filled my world up with beautiful young men. It wasn't hard. They were everywhere. People I worked with, people I went to school with. And I felt if CC wasn't willing and able to be in my life, then I would fill the void with others. Perhaps he was a part of that filling as well. Who knows.

He used to accuse me of being afraid to be alone with myself. That was true. I had to be surrounded by people. I was afraid of my own thoughts. So, to prove him wrong, or to grow a bit, I signed up for an archaeology class for the summer--field school in the southeast corner of Colorado, the desert really. I think that was what tipped CC into my world really. I spent a week at a time in a tent, digging during the day and came back to work in the city on weekends, which I grew to hate. I found that my time in the wilderness was a much needed reprieve from my stupidity. Not that I didn't find playmates in field school, because I did, but mostly I had time for introspection. I sat in my tent at night and wrote in my journal and learned to be alone with myself. I even took my paints and easel to my tent but never really managed to create much of anything. But it was good time, my time. And what started off as an excuse to get away from my boys in the city turned into one of the most rewarding experiences I have ever had. I hated coming back to the city. I came to feel like my tent was home and enjoyed the heat and solitude.
But I did come back, and CC and I hooked up for two amazing weekends before he ran away. He left for New Mexico at the end of that summer just as I ended my field school. He left me with questions and yearnings I can't even describe. He ran away to pursue his own Thoreau dreams and left me in a state of sadness that took me several years to overcome.

For many years his words have echoed in my head. When R and I finally moved to Taos and I was driving for a pizza place there, I used to drive past latilla fences and think nostalgically of CC. How might it have been if I had been there with him instead of with R? And when R and I bought the old adobe barn on the old commune, I thought of CC and how he might approve or disapprove of our choices. The sad thing was that I was stuck with this unfinished relationship in my head and R was never ever going to be CC as much as he reminded me of him on occasion. I kept my thoughts to myself and I never went to see CC even though I knew where he was down in the south central part of New Mexico. I was still so afraid of his imminent rejection anyway. He wanted to be alone, so I thought I should leave him alone. And I have. But now and then he shows up in my head and makes me smile. I miss him, his words and his valuable insights. I was blessed to have him in my life for the briefest of moments and I have to thank him for that.

Now, as I research Maine and read the story of the Nearings, who often quote Thoreau, CC keeps creeping back into my thoughts. I suppose we had similar goals in life and a similar outlook. I guess it's natural to wonder about him as I think of going off on my own Thoreau experiment. Of course I will still have R and the babies and a cranky teenager, which will change everything in terms of simplicity, but I have to give it a go. Life has gotten so boring here, so predictable. Once CC said "Too many people know me here. I have to move." I feel like that a lot. Even though I try to get my art out and make a name for myself (well, not lately) and I try to get my writings published here and there. I guess I don't want to be completely invisible, but I would like to have some privacy from my neighbors, from my family. And I would like to walk in the woods on unspoiled land, raise my own vegetables, and chickens for eggs, give my children a safe place to grow up and possibly have the opportunity for my relationship with R to turn into something good and meaningful and dare I say loving again?

I miss the adventure of trying something new. Life's a wastin' so I better get on with it. How will I have anything to write about if I don't go out there and live?