I am Yeopim Indian and Cherokee proud, and Scottish and English and Irish loud, along with Dutch and Black French and possibly more. And from them all my genetic disposition lays. In my hair, in my eyes, in my innate knowledge and intuition, in my sense of adventure and in my search for home do I find glimpses of all those that came before. All my ancestors, all in me. But I alone have my spirit. My true self. That has been here before.
And in mindful analysis and decompression of the physical frame as each day becomes a bit more mundane the layers of thought and peers wash aside as the essence of being comes forth in glints of light.
“Why do you fear being wealthy?” “Why do you believe you do not deserve riches?” I am asked.
Struck, I wonder, is this true? Should I be rich in homes with heightened ceilings and possessions galore? Is that what my life’s work is for? I would like to have enough-though that maybe less than many, more than some. Seeds to grow into food for mind and strength and chickens here and there. A rambling adobe with rooms for art and friends, for laughter, for cooking, for light, and memory.
Enough to visit new places at whim, for inspiration and to meet people and culture new. But to watch a sunset from my own porch swing would be as sweet a riches as I could dream.
Sommelier? I cannot drink more than one glass of wine! Food industry? I can’t stay up past nine! A city plot, cement gardens, and lack of birds, no deer around, no late owl heard?
Homesteader, homemaker, home dreamer am I. Making a home under the Great Mystery’s sky.
My job is to raise grandchildren when so blessed to have them near. To teach them herbs, and trees, and birds, and through the wind the Creator heard. To show them things that schools do not know.
To help those that seek my help, in physical or spiritual need should they ask, to find the right herbs and prayers and songs.
Silence and nature are my friends as the early dawn and the night sky guide my days all year long.