two years later

                       a wee lychee

Well that last post wasn't my last post after all. And that link in my last post to my new blog, which was going to be called 'grounded in LA' but never got off the ground, is defunct. Not quite two years since my last post but close and here I am again. 

Hi. 

I'm happy to be writing something here. It feels appropriate. In these two years that I haven't posted here I've left behind the entire life I once had and knew. I was already divorced then, but still had half a house full of objects, not just from my marriage but from my childhood, from my family and friends. I had boxes and boxes of art, crafting supplies, an entire jewelry studio, my archive of fabrics and fibers, a kitchen that rivaled Williams-Sonoma in scope of content, years of collecting clothing like it was art, and more more more. I was full of things, all set to start a new adventure without having to start, yet again, from scratch. And what did I do? I sold it all. I took two suitcases and my car with me to a tropical island in the pacific and died. The broken heart that I gave myself by leaving everything I knew and loved, my comforts and my beloveds, not just the things of my life, the plans and ideas, but the animate objects I loved most in the world, is indescribable. It was not my idea to do it. It was not my idea to move so far away into a complete unknown. It was not done under the self-motivating locomotion of my own will. But it was done and I've explored every inch of it over the last twenty-one months. Every inch of bereavement, every inch of tension, every inch of self-loathing, every inch of the greatest grief I've ever known or hope to know, every inch of resistance, every inch of regret, and every single inch of confusion. It was hell. I still can't really answer why I did it. To save my own life? Because I couldn't bear to keep living with such a great attachment to the material world and I knew I had nothing inside, so much anger and not enough love? Did I see that this was one of those chances that I may not have later, to rip out everything I held dear so that I could see who I was behind all the holding on? Because I was so vulnerable and I was swayed by outside power of suggestion? All of the above probably. 

               some of my designs

I'm still here on this little island for a short while longer. I'm writing a little book. I'm eating custard apples and lychees and pineapples. I live only one moment at a time, spontaneous in the space of my body. I meditate and do yoga and even though I've done this most of my life, it only now brings me great joy. The sadness that's here has loving space to just be and I'm no longer broken. This isn't my space to document what's already happened in these last couple years. I'm just here to pick up the threads of each day, to see what they weave. 

                 it's magnolia season