My friend called this morning from her new perch on the East Coast. I was sipping coffee and watching Sunday morning rustle through maple leaves in my yard. "The things I need are space and time," I heard her say. It seems there is never enough of either, and yet we are surrounded by them. It is the ultimate paradox of a human life.
Today is the last day of my week-long creative barefoot staycation. I took a week off of my consulting work in order to stay home, work on Lucia's third issue, and sink a little further into the ground of this summer, this season, this life. I won't pretend it was anything but satiating and I won't pretend it was enough. It was neither, and it was both.
I watered my small pots of oregano, rosemary, lavender, strawberries, mint, cilantro and basil, while dreaming of building actual flowerbeds in the backyard of this little city cottage. Good soil could grow an abundance of native wildflowers. It wouldn't be too hard, I thought. I could find some old time-worn planks of gnarly wood, nail them together into rectangles, and order up a small truckload of good dirt to lay atop the hardened and root-bound earth here beneath the boughs of the neighbor's gorgeous cedar tree... but time. Is there time for this? Maybe I will just toss some seeds and see what grows.
My mother had a birthday and so we celebrated, a visit across the water to Southworth where there was birthday cake, hugs, laughter, and yard races with my three-year-old niece. The winner got to wear the fresh clover-flower necklace.
My calendar book was luxuriously spacious with entire swaths of days empty and only one word penciled in: write. Write I did, filling journals and even buying new ones. I bought a new laptop too, because the old one conked out. I swore I would never buy a pink laptop until I saw it in person and touched it. Rose (I named her) came home with me and the next morning helped me write a story for Lucia that has been percolating, just waiting for space to arise.
The wildflower workshop I attended yesterday deepened my longing for those flowerbeds in my yard. Renee Beaudoin, of Forest to Vase, brought buckets of foraged wildflowers and showed us how to make a centerpiece without styrofoam and without spending a lot of money. I brought my gardening gloves that say "Ethel" on them, the ones I love because Ethel was my great-grandmother. I carry her name through space and time.
Saturday's sunset was spent sorting feelings...this is mine, that is his. This is me, that is him. I am here, he is there. Sometimes understanding what belongs to someone else versus what belongs to us takes time. Space. Tarot cards are new to me, a gift from my girlfriend who called this morning. The deck is The Goddess Tarot and I love them. I drew what is called a "Relationship Spread" and spent an hour under the new moon at midnight reading the cards. I slept like a baby afterwards. Space and time bring the gift of perspective, and it is holy.
Tomorrow I return to the topside world, where my iPhone tells me 740 work emails await my attention. I am breathing softly, hoping to carry the space of July into the rest of my summer, my year, my love, my life.
Wherever we find it, however long or short, time and space is sacred. It is also abundant. It is everywhere around us, like air, like water in the ocean, like love. The access point is our breath. One inhale contains infinity and one exhale carries all that we must let go.
With love from the last day of staycation, I am wishing you access to all of the space and time you need. May it be yours, and ours, forever.