Wall to wall, five inches of water barely rippled over the floor, reflecting soft blue, like Larimar in motion playing its own tune from ground to high ceiling of a half Olympic sized room. On a giant distorted screen, voice said “you can come back to us if you want.” I was next to pool upon hardened sand within a gemstone.
Once a member, I recall. Under water, legs folded, in meditative hold I embraced location one last time. I gathered fingernail sized shells, once collected, now discarded. Scraping to carry past is far from me, a presented symbol for preparation. Of course, I responded to the voice, not to be rude. I thought I was alone, walked in the door, let myself in and wandered without sight of another soul. I didn’t see anyone swimming in the pool, but I felt presence projected as ghosted legs and arms of past swimmers laps misted in and out. I explained to air I was leaving, here to clear what I left behind.
A robed man walking to a meeting invited me to join. Gliding undistracted, I removed trinkets to live without and collected irreplaceable tokens - like the gold and yellow bowtie of Coco‘s I carry in my purse since it dropped into view out of nowhere while driving him to veterinary urgent care. I hadn’t seen that collar in what might be years, a different story, as it has become something I will never let go. I love him so much. I almost lost him right there.
Gripping a thought bubble of my dogs waiting in the car blocked distraction of the seductive Larimar room. Clear, unintoxicated, I made way, avoiding creation of needed escape. - Lately, life platters distraction conjunctive to being prepared. - CoCo wakes tossing and turning next to me. I just washed a layer of Manuka honey from my face to take a 10 minute nap, which stretched an hour and a half. The day sleeper strikes again.
Initially, I was certain I knew this place and played a mental slide show of all swim clubs visited. One too many lanes spaced that pool for real San Francisco. Waking groggy, I could confirm it does not exist. I knew this was about the path to change, to do something new, to become something new, to find new place. When will I be ready? When I see it, I guess. But when will I see it? And how prepared am I versus distracted ? I realize a bit of gold occurred, attempting to sort energies as harmful or helpful, regardless of intention or source.
Before deliverance, before the dream, before the nurturing Manuka honey mask, I was in the bath. Jumped in after 3 AM, set the dogs in a bed beside the tub, I lightly fell asleep. An odd sound outside nodded me awake. I thought, “are the prison gates unlocking?“ Honestly, the extension of my stay has felt more a prison than anything, trapped within moments of distraction to maintain illusion, like a Larimar pool that doesn’t exist.
A few days ago, I decided to pull an overnighter before discussing with city officials the sinking condition of townhome maintenance by out of state property owners. I needed to tidy anyway, and in good timing. I rolled out an overflowing red wagon of discards, then reloaded my dining table with the final pack or toss pile. Sorting is responsible, though honestly, I want to put my hand at one end of the table, yell loudly and shove everything to spill over the edge to drag away and be done with it. It’s this very reason I can’t stand random mail.
I’m certainly well prepared compared to first deciding upon cutting away all outside useful and personal favor. I know, packed in boxes are a dozen things to toss. I resist opening them. What’s the point in perfectionism? Has preparedness become my distraction? Anyway, I’m greater today than a year ago, though feeling a bit lost and saddened from the drag. I’m cautious now a bit more unearthed.
It’s odd as arrows that don’t have a point, enough to hit, fall to the ground, and leave a mini mark like soot. I believe those are necessary as learning to stand in the wind. Every time I see what can work as a creative residence it’s in downtown L.A. I’m not taking another frying pan! Until the complete answer presents itself, I glamorously prepare and may need to go in swinging a shovel. If the prison gates have opened, I wonder, to where does it lead?
This journal snippet alludes to…
Currently unassigned / unpublished episode