“What did you do for fun when you were 10 years old?” I ask myself. I wish I knew, I answer.
This morning I am thinking of a quote from the movie Cold Fever, “I learned that sometimes a [life] journey can take you to a place that is not on any map.” I am thinking about Ayurveda teachings and my desires. I’m terrible with directions, I travel on intuition. Yesterday I followed the sun into my heart where I made a pot of soup. Traversing vineyards, I look for my tribe and seek truth.
I wish I had played more as a child, dreamt frivolously, dressed up. I wish I had embraced silly, irresponsible art. I wish I had coloured outside the lines, auditioned, started a food fight.
I am asking questions, journalling like never before and thinking of my days spent in Newfoundland.
If nothing else, scatter my remains on water.
It’s amazing how you can be surrounded by people your entire life yet realize that none of that matters but some. Recently I went into a dark, deep cavern of self and found my shadow. It was pure destruction, it was ugly as all hell, it was a snot, sobbing mess of confrontation. Compassion is a habit that comes when there is no light.
November is national novel writing month. I fear a work of creative non-fiction within. It is real and possibly isolating yet I am certain it will change my life, like giving up tasks that don’t make me happy, connection with authentic folk and touch.
This morning happiness is a road not on any map, gemstones and chrysanthemums. I wrote pain soldier on a piece of paper and lit it on fire, I stirred the ashes into my soup and slurped it up igniting the pitta within.
Today I am a soul warrior with a laptop and a mug of coffee. I am taking applications for my tribe and unveiling the 10 year old within. Anything is possible when you have truth and a bowl of soup.