15. Once in a Blue Moon

musings on the same things being different

There is a house on a hill that overlooks acres and acres of fertile land, guarded by cattle and goats. It’s nestled in a valley surrounded by houses propped up on stilts, laid with corrugated iron.

Around 6am, just after the cock crows, when the sky is tinged pink and the mist settles on the grass, and the man who lives a few houses down passes with his donkey; right after my cousin quietly stirs in the room on the veranda, the sky clears and everything looks like an acrylic oil painting.

It is also the house my grandma took her last breath.

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On my camcorder, there is a clip of me working in my kitchen. Behind the camera, she is speaking to me, but doesn’t make it audible to me (I barely look up from my laptop), and then to an invisible audience she whispers into the mic ‘she doesn’t know that I love her. I love her very much.’ There is a journal on my desk that contains pages of me wanting desire that is mutual and love that is easy.

I should have added ‘and recognise it when it’s in front of me’.

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My apartment is on one of my vision boards. Floor to ceiling windows and egg shell walls that illuminate the light of the sun. There are plants and books and instruments and incense and an altar space and peaceful quiet.

I secured this space when I realised my nervous system had reached its capacity for a house at war.

But there have also been times where the stillness has been unbearable.

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Last week I wrote about presence… and it’s lead me to think about perspective*, how the same thing can look different, but it’s the same. Like the house on the hill – this year I spent 2 weeks waking up to the same beautiful, pink sky inspiring a lot of these letters. But the house on the hill has also brought a lot of pain (and I used to swear I’d never return).

I’m currently interested in telling myself a new story on the things that are the same.

Here are some of my thoughts:

• I’m choosing to see this differently; this isn’t binary

• I can have the thing, but not recognise the thing if I’m not vibrating the thing

• What is the story I’m telling myself about this situation?

• What would this look like if I zoomed out?

I can really be a ‘glass half empty’ babe, so this being my most recent focus is absolutely comical to me, but I’m here for it.

Before I go, check out this interview with the babe of life Rainn Wilson. It’s a really good one.

Until next time xo

*a lot of this seems to be connected. Also not surprised the algorithm is now feeding me content that reinforces all of this.