"I woke this morning wrapped in loss. I was caught between sleep and waking, living again is a house that I had once lived in loved, and lost--lost once and for all to a persistent and dangerous prowler whom we could not rout. Lying in my New York bed, in my New York bedroom, in the midst of my busy and productive New York life, I was back in New Mexico in my house full of saltillo tiles with the scratching sound of my pack of dogs as they waited eagerly for me to be up and with them for the day.
I once had five acres, seven horses, and seven dogs. I do not have them now. If I let myself, I miss every ince--apple trees, wooden fences constantly in need of repair, acequias gently sloughing with water and stray twigs on our irrigation days. I miss every twitch, every hair of each of the dogs, given away, one at a time, to loving friends. I miss the silken muzzle of each horse, nuzzling me for an apple or carrot, saying, "That's it? Hay?" when I fed them each morning.
If I let myself, I connot be in the now because I am overcome by the power of the then, the beauty and grace of all that I have left behind. But the prowler could not be cuaght by any known arm of the law, and it was too hard to stay on, sleeping at night with all my dogs banked against danger, with every scratch of a twig at every window sending us all into high alert.
So I cannot let myself linger in the past."
That's how I feel tonight.
I opened up a book and read this page. Earlier Vinny and I went to the gallery opening and then ate dinner together. We got home, I did dishes, went through bills, and picked up the house. I played outside in the spring nightness with the dogs, came back in, lit candles, and made some tea. I sat down with a notebook and for the first time in too long was acutely aware of the silence. It is the kind of silence that is heavy with stars and the smell of spring. In my notebook I made a list of the things I need to pack before putting the house up for sale. Clutter. But the silence made me sad. It was a beautiful silence that makes me question my occassional desire to move back into town. Out here there are no sirens, no loud cars, no street lights, no neighbors. The silence here is peaceful in a way I have never experienced anywhere else.
Granted, my only prowler is money. The only danger is in giving up my dreams and the things I value most.
Sometimes it knocks me harder than other times... the notion of selling and moving. There are times that I just want to move on, to have bills paid, to not have so many worries. But there are other times, like tonight, that I come home and am all too aware of what I will be giving up. I've left other places that were hard to leave, but the difference is that then I knew my stay was temporary to begin with. Did I think I would always have this place? Yes, I think I did. But life hasn't worked out the right way. And I'm afraid I'm going to feel like that woman... in the future always missing this bit of my past. Will I ever find this again?
And perhaps when I get to the next place, I will find beauty and it will create a space big enough to hold both the present and the past. But carrying the past around seems like a heavy load. In the end, it feels like nothing more than loss.
The price we pay for what we most believe in... I can only hope that is worth it. Then again, there's only one way to find out. I've admitted time and time again to myself that I am not happy here. Money has destroyed my ability to find the peace I once had. Now it is only in brief moments. Moments that remind me of what I won't have. Peace, like the silence tonight, is bittersweet.
Damn it. And all I can hope is that where ever I end up in all my tomorrows that it will be worth it. I'm looking for the positive, but... it's hard. Period.
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