The Interim Room (and a recipe for a luxurious oil bath)

bath

I am sitting in the waiting room between the first part of my life and the second.  A space with cream colored walls and carpet and a fireplace run by a light switch.  It’s quiet here in this respite room as I wait for the universe to throw open the next door.  I breathe and listen to my own heart beat.  My lesson here is rest.  Learning to balance rest, work, and play. I am plenty good at the work and play part, not so much with the rest.  I am forced to learn rest before I can move on.  It is imperative to the creation and success of our next ventures.

farmers market

I will be forty-two next week.  I am thankful for each and every birthday as I know how precious they are no matter the age.  Perhaps I will be sitting on a beach or running about the San Diego zoo or strolling a really fresh farmer’s market.  I know not, open to adventure, we fly out Tuesday to stay with our friends, Lisa and Steve, who graciously opened their home to us.  We are taking the opportunity to travel some this year before we have to find farm sitters again!

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I am really listening to myself in the silence.  I am highly sensitive person.  I have to be careful what I watch or read as it can completely change my heart rate, ignite fear, create chaos.  I close my eyes and meditate on nothing, or love, or acceptance, or peace as I look out beyond the crows to the snow bound mountains and the low lying clouds that embrace.  I stretch into yoga poses, more flexible and getting stronger than I have been in a long time.  I have written poetry and gratitude every day since the beginning of the year and my poetry collection is growing into an anthology of my life.  I recognize myself more, I embrace change, I look forward to the future, but I embrace today.  Even the dishwasher and dryer (which I still could do without).

meditation

The highlight of this beautiful apartment is the garden tub.  The first I have fit in at nearly six feet tall.  It is wide in girth and long and luxurious as I rest my neck against its back and meld into the warm water in the warm bathroom with candles lit.  My spirit resetting at each wave of water and each meditation prompt, and each yoga move, and each delicious clean dish served from my kitchen.  A lovely interim.

The Luxury Bath

As the bath is filling, light candles.  Let there be silence, it is mesmerizing.

To water add a good drizzle of oil, such as olive, apricot kernel, avocado, sunflower, et cetera.

Add 1/2 cup of baking soda to balance the PH of the body.

Add 1/2 cup of fine sea salt.

Rest in bath and pour a bit of your favorite (not volatile or hot) essential oil under the pouring water.  I particularly love rose, lavender, jasmine, and/or orange depending on my mood.

Breathe and rest completely.

san diego beach

Rest, I am learning, is as important as work and play.

(You can type “A Walk in the Vineyards” in the Search and find our week of adventures in Napa Valley and San Francisco with Steve and Lisa from a few years ago.)

A Whir of Creativity

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The old clock ticks from the mantle. The tea is ready. The sun is going down in the west through the snow clouds. The light is luminescent and warm despite the chill. I am oddly, most strangely content here. I would never believe it so. A Farmgirl in an apartment?

It is as if I have not breathed in years. I awake without any trace of anxiety, without any fear. Just joy. Peace. A funny feeling of mirth and prosperity though fifteen dollars is to my name. I walk around this place and feel nothing but happiness. The cream colored walls, tints of sunshine, and creamy carpets, plush beneath my feet, all bring me joy. The stone fireplace, the view, the kitchen, the walk in closet, the huge tub, a vacation designed to bring me back to my true self and respite much needed after years of toiling. I am in my element.

There is no cable television. No internet. No plugs buzzing with chargers or surge protectors filled to capacity with this cord or that. There is only the sound of…Peace. Nothing to distract from my own thoughts.

My, this place has charged me. I finished a book I have been working on for seven months last night. I flipped over an uneventful grilled cheese and poured a glass of wine to celebrate. Doug closes most nights and I am alone more so than I ever have been. My creativity is positively overflowing.   Two books finished and three more being revised and re-released. Class ideas. Ideas for everything come flowing from my fingertips and the house is a whirl of creative smoke and untidiness until it passes.

 

Listening to Intuition and Dreams

boat

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.

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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.

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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.