I open my eyes and my first reaching out of the night numbness is to assess the day. I hear birds already at their posts in the trees calling out in a language I am not comprehending. Their tone suggests living as usual. Before a big storm, the neighbourhood crows are insistent, nagging, harsh. But today there was no need for alarm.

The cool breeze coming in my window lifts the blackout curtain and touches the parts of my body that are unwrapped from the blanket. I know that I have some stage unknown to myself wherein I shift from my self comforting fetal position on to my back when I know I am about to release the day. I will move to my left side my knees drawn up, two clasped hands touching my mouth. It is probably some memory of self comfort thumb sucking from infancy.

The morning inevitably finds me flat on my back, spread out and floating on whatever segment of dream I still feel solidly. And then it is swept away with the rest of the night’s visions leaving me only with the tonality, the theme music of the narrative journey.

The day is cool, sunny, the birds are content and busy with their mating and nesting.

Next, I run my mind gently over the house… tracing the shape of it. I feel out to the walls that enclose me… It is almost a ritual reconstruction of the domicile sanctuary daily. The ritual of making my home actual.

I ask, “Who is here?” When 160 people have passed through the house nightly in four months, it takes some effort to re-inhabit the bedrooms downstairs.

Lavender along the walk way

The wonder of my life in the last five months is the very gentleness of it. My transition to waking is soft. As I stand on the floor, I have a sense of purpose. I have guests to make coffee for, to chat with and if they are gone I have rooms to prepare. The garden is flourishing under the habit of care I have established.

Many people lately have told me I have never looked better and it surprises me. I am so uninterested in how I appear to others, it is almost shocking when somebody makes a comment. It feels like they are noticing a coat I am wearing that I don’t remember putting on.

After almost ten years of retreat, mourning, study, plant medicine, writing, sitting with teachers I feel that I am ready to live. The sense that something was wrong with me that has haunted me most of my life is gone. The sense of “me” is gone. I am only an energy of exploration. I am only a “bundle of habits” as my teachers have explained to me. Most of the day there is just flow, work, thought, learning.

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After decades of struggling in the spider web and hearing a voice off screen yelling to just lay still, I get it. There is a way to escape and it is not through work, worry, wasting attention. I feel like one of those birds in the tree outside my window teetering on the edge of the nest.

peace

It is time to fly and let the air take me. But first I have a garden to weed. I can finally say, “I wake up happy.”