In one of my favorite travel memoirs, “On Mexican Time” by Tony Cohan he notes that it takes about three weeks to completely relax and decompress. It has been three weeks since we arrived at our temporary home with good friends. And the longer we are here the more I begin to feel my tense muscles relax, the tears come less and less, and clarity is ever more present.
I had a dream after we saw the homestead in Calhan the first time. I dreamt that the landlords were chasing us and the feeling of dread I felt upon waking trying to escape that house made me decide that we should not move there. But the low rent and my sweet intern’s prompting made me think I was being ridiculous. I have a gift of discernment. I can look in someone’s eyes and know if they are telling the truth or if they mean harm. The last tenants left in the middle of the day leaving everything behind and never came back. I knew there was something not right, but I dismissed my own intuition in the name of $700 rent and a possible forever homestead. And as the tension grew and it got more and more unbearable, Shyanne had a dream that they had set the house on fire and that she saw the cats burning and since that child has the same gifts as I do, we hurried to get out of there a bit faster. We would hear her screaming into the phone outside our house ranting about my blog. I had to shut my phone off so I couldn’t receive more stalking texts from her demanding more money. When we came the last time to clear the rest of our things, half of it was piled in a huge jumble outdoors and the rest had been picked over. We left for good. I should have listened to that original dream. Turns out a friend of ours has a friend who was a dairy farmer in Calhan who had heard of that couple and their con. They get people in for very low rent, make them feel sorry for them (he is in a wheelchair), the tenants improve the property, pay rent in advance, then get forced out with fake breaches in the contract. Never, ever doubt your gut feelings.
So, when I had a dream that I should not go work at the restaurant, I listened. Even though we are down to fifteen dollars, I must not second guess my intuition. We need to listen. We have food, and drink, and clothes, and shelter, and our two bills are paid. We need to listen.
Last night I had a dream that our family were all in boats, canoes sort of, wading through crystal clear waters in a lagoon in the mountains. The boats peacefully cut through the silent waters. It was warm and sweet. A time of respite.
My work with medicines is a beautiful calling but one that can be draining and sometimes dangerous. I have much work to do. We have new places to be, our favorite communities to be a part of, and a future home and people to help. This is my opportunity for respite. Something I most definitely fight against. But there are no mandatory chores to do right now. No places to be necessarily and no deadlines. Just time and space and thoughts. Cups of tea and mountainsides, writing books and dreams to listen to.