The Secret Places

July 6th, 2013

CA pond Frida

Two days spent on a ranch in California with nowhere to be, nothing expected of me, no writing assignments, no wifi. All around the house, meadows of gold and green grass where we pitched long cushions to lie in the sun and wind. And at the bottom of the hill, a small green lake with a tiny island in the middle. The surface of the lake part in shade and part in sun, the shadows of trees along the bank stretching themselves over the water just as we stretched ourselves out in the sunlight. Even reading was too full of effort. I could feel my soul rise like yeast in the warmth of the sun. We don’t have enough of these secret places that allow us to come to a complete halt, that bring us face to face with ourselves, that force us to acknowledge all the meaningless static we embrace in order not to be still or alone or empty. I always manage to have something that is more important to do than being present in my body or present in my life. Because when I turn off the sound, there I am — frighteningly small, wholly human and mortal, and often lost on this journey through life. It’s easier to jump up and run off to Bed Bath and Beyond or race frantically against a deadline or resort to anything, anything  to forget that the deep secret mystery of my soul is always there waiting to be entered. It’s what we’re born to do, and yet the whole world conspires to make us pretend that this is homework we can put off indefinitely.

One Response to “The Secret Places”

  1. V-Grrrl says:

    The quiet moments host me and my Ghosts, my old familiars.

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