One week remains of deep winter. One week to wallow and wait within the dark walls of the season. Cracks already appear as the soft sexual coo of the roadrunner wafts through the afternoon air. A pair of curve-billed thrashers are nest making inside of a teddy bear cholla cactus. No small event BTW…they’ve never nested in California.
I pluck dreams from my journal and revisit their gist; assess my path in their wake. Words like base and foundation filter through the mind as I seek a clear view of the woman who holds the pen. And we all, every one of us, holds the pen that writes our life.
I review my life in decades, winnowing them down to the 2 or 3 events that solidified my spirit.
Teens: My horse; role of Liesl in “The Sound of Music” (much bigger than cheerleader or HQ) and the riveting summer of ’68 in Chicago during the Democratic Convention.
Twenties: To Canada with husb Donnie (on leave from Viet Nam) on the underground RR; birth of daughter Hope; Master’s Degree.
Thirties: Climbing the 14,000 foot peaks of Colorado; solo 7-week journey to Guatemala; jaguar @ Tikal.
Forties: Five yr solo wilderness retreat; first book published.
Fifties: Second book published; Zimbabwe; Denmark; selling 95% of my possessions and fulltime RV-ing for 5 years…travels from BC to Baja; photojournalist in Tanzania; meetings w/whale, dolphin and griz.
My 50’s is the hardest to pare down, probably because I’m still there. Until October anyhow. I could make a collage with pictures of these events. Add the women, men, mates, pets who accompanied and supported me in spirit and/or flesh. The landscapes that fed me.
But I sit for now with this glimpse of soul’s path. She creates the conditions through which she and the planet must evolve. My work is to stay out of her way. To keep moving towards the light.