And I exhale Yes!!!
Home is where the heart is.
Or the Internet.
I sit at a tall black cafe table at the house sipping coffee. Stretching before me is an expanse of parkland spotted with trees. They do not obscure the scenery beyond to the West: the magnificent Rocky Mountains.
The otherwise solid blue sunny sky is laden with a flat gray-white cloud; unlike in Washington state, the clouds do not presage weeks of insufferable gloom.
In Colorado, clouds come, clouds go. A sky as alive, vital and changeable I’ve not seen except possibly in Montana.
Ahhhhh. To have the Internet back at home is for me to be back in the flow stream. Don’t get me wrong. I adore pubs, cafes and such public spots where I can make myself at home, kick off my shoes, stretch out my legs and write, blog and surf.
Those remain, for all their wonderfulness, borrowed space.
A space that is not mine. And at the core of who I am, what matters more to me than anything in the stratosphere, even more than my own breath, is space.
After an extremely slippery slope of a hard landing in Colorado, I’ve at least achieved space in modicum.
A place – a house – where I won’t stay but will keep me for a while. A space to stabilize and be safe.
I like to make sense of things …. to probe for meaning and message in the tragedies and undoings and redoings and all form, scent and color of the events in life.
Where I sit today, I don’t know that I’ll ever understand why things happened as they did in the homes in these first months: The Straightjacket House, aka the House of Wincing, and the Rampager’s House.
I don’t know how or why I ended up with such fucked-up women, bitter, brutal and brutalizing, bam! bam! bam! three in a row in three months. Pretty remarkable and memorable.
They were damaged women doing damage. Damage is all they could do. Perhaps it’s that simple. Perhaps there’s some other reason we crossed paths that I can’t yet see to be revealed by Father Time.
Perhaps it was just bad luck of the first draw, and the second. Housing in Denver is as difficult as I’ve ever encountered — even harder than it is for foreigners in Japan — and the whys only make for more questions!
Still … I do like that word right now … still on this day of 11-11-11, the intense Rumblings and Shakings of the Earth in Colorado came to a lull, a stillness.
It feels soooo good … nurturing … supportive of self … to just sit in a place where I am safe, psychologically and emotionally … and to listen to classical music through the laptop’s tinny speakers … to enjoy a cup of coffee and blogging again … and the Colorado scenery at my fingertips.
Is this not the very early stage of the dream that brought me here?
Is this not what drew me away from the dark damp dank climes of Washington/Tacoma, where the situation had truly become one of Do or Die?
It is. Sunshine, dry air, seasons and opportunity suit me. Aliveness suits me.
After some 124 days, give or take, of rugged survival through the hardest landing encountered by this lifelong traveler, I’ve finally arrived in Denver, Colorado.
Not yet lived. Arrived. And that’s a pretty damn good accomplishment under the circumstances. I believe in the astral they call it an Honorable Mention deserving of three gold stars. I’ve gained a toehold in the rocky terrain like the Capricorn goat and experienced the violent airstreams like an eagle in flight.
Now through the mountain of rubble I probe around to find me and the voice of the writer again.
The Internet at home is a flowy Piscean beginning …