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The First Year They Sleep

September 2, 2010

After months of silence it’s time to speak. It isn’t just a matter of moving six times since October that had me reeling, it was also like the end of an era, being forcibly torn from my long time home, surroundings, life-style, routines; and I had to assimilate, adapt, restructure. 

I am not completely finished with that process, but nearly.

I had a dream last night, that required chronicling.  I was telling myself this, about our current situation, which is renting after owning:

“You see,” (I said to a dream Jennifer with whom I stood face to face);

face to face

 “I have been repeatedly yanked up and replanted, and now am like that tree there, in that borrowed pot.

Yes, I stand fairly straight, I have the sun, food, water – all that I require, really. And although shocked and somewhat wilted, I remain beautiful and retain those once-achieved goals and future possibilities.

But I cannot realize my full potential within the confines of this unnatural container.

I cannot put my roots down, fully establish, thrive nor excel.  In here they cannot unfurl, reaching out to the depths where those hidden streams run that would cool and quench. 

Those tiny inquiring tendrils that once searched the universe to draw on its magical sustenance, are now curled and knotted into a ball; woven in, around and through themselves, thwarted by that which holds them in. 

No, I cannot truly make this inadequate bit of earth my own.  I must be planted in a place that I know is mine.”

"old trees grow stronger every day"

I awoke, remembering an old gardening adage referring to transplanted things, like trees:

The first year they sleep, the second year they creep and the third year they leap.

I now am believing for my home – that place where I can finish growing while on this earthly plane. 

I imagine it with old trees, standing like elaborate, stately sentries or protective friends.  It has expanses instead of immediate neighbors, and a stream to replace the rivers of roads that crisscross every view carrying with them the noise and stench of cars, motorcycles, incessant screaming sirens, garbage trucks and street washers. 

See that house? 

It has flower beds encircling it, two and a half stories, a porch with a good dog or two on it, and white fences delineating the green grass like lace.  Behind is where the vegetable garden is, and beyond that lay the outbuildings (like the chicken coop and duck yard) and a path that meanders through the woods.  To the left is the pond, where the horse can walk down and get a drink, and to the right is MaidenShade Studio and Gallery.  You’ll discover a wonderful workshop in that vicinity too, where my husband putters on putters.

There the worried furrows have smoothed into laugh lines that accentuate eyes bright with peace, instead of tears. 

I am ready to leap.

our front porch

2 Comments leave one →
  1. September 2, 2010 12:07 pm

    Well put. I wish the fulfillment of this dream for you. Any part of it would be heaven for me, with the exception of a two story home. (Two of those later and I dream of one story that was so easy when we lived in Florida.)

    I have not said anything, but I am concerned over the move to CA. Yes, yes, as a vacation, what could be better than San Francisco? But, roots? I cannot envision it. My life is New Orleans to Orlando, with a possible extension into Houston.

    And, as you know from experience, what if we get there and the “they” decide “oops”? “They” are very unstable.

    So, on a positive note, and taking control of OUR life OURSELVES, I hope we have enough time to find a place where OUR life resides in the 7 weeks we have left.

    Your post is an inspiration as we start this journey. I’m wholeheartedly in support of your dream and “here’s to” making both of ours happen! We CAN do it.

  2. September 2, 2010 5:45 pm

    What a lovely vision to hold in your mind’s eye. Me likey 🙂

    Erin *~*~*

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