I rarely review my journalings. Ok that is a lie. I never review my journalings, because they are usually so poorly written, but I do it as an exercise in expression and to reveal some sort of consciousness laying deep inside my innards that would not otherwise be revealed to me in my neatly packaged, but quirky self. And then I read Anne Lamott and she tells me, they are all terrible first drafts; just get the damn stuff out. Oh, good.
The cabin stay was a respite from noise and men. The city is filled with both, and in large volume; it constructs a sentiment of “what the hell is all this about anyway?” This type of visage lingers forever too. But with the pine trees and in a cozy cabin with tall ceilings, and a distant train rustling across rainy tracks some 2 miles away, an inlay of solace falls upon me in its immediacy.
The sun is finally peaking out and it is our last day. I will miss this cabin because we fell in love the moment we met and spent our first night together enveloped in love. He wrapped me up and became the purveyor of protection for me from the outside noise, kept one hand on me all night, as he knows I like touch and a whole lot of intimacy. We slept 12 hours holding each other. Not once that night was I cold. When I sleep next to real men, sometimes I feel so utterly cold and I know its not about me, but that’s the part that we must endure in containing relationships, the inadequacies of real men, mine included. Isn’t it enough to have to deal with our own, and then to have to deal with someone else’s. At times, it is too much to bare, and sometimes I forget that. Why is that we can’t figure out our shit first, then find someone who has also figured out their shit, and THEN come together and live happily ever after. Or maybe that only works in theory and, instead, it requires a great relationship for that kind of acknowledgment. Does it require a powerful and beautiful union between two partners when and where then our neurosis and real illnesses come pouring out, in revelation? Oh fun. It is when and where someone you love helps you bring those out, because, in an attempt to love better and love harder, you sort of have to. The truth will set you free. Bull shit. But it will espouse you in a way that carries you further into a realm of understanding and healing, and that is where the freedom lies. You want so badly to heal these parts so that you can be in right relations with this person you yearn to love rightly, and you do it willingly, to go through the pain, in order to get to the real part of why we are here; to love properly. But I digress. Again.
The cabin. I came with instant coffee, a 10 year old creme colored chow named Curry, thick winter socks in the middle of a California September, lots of tabs for my notes, mixed nuts, 12 books, my sanity, and a partridge in a pair tree. Cabin welcomed me and my mixed bags; mental headspace and non matching luggage of the physical stuff abound. For 5 days we had a whirl wind romance of deep conversation (he listens very well), my tirades (he knows when to keep quiet), black bean soup, meditation, quiet reading time, and arguments over what temperature we should keep him at (I preferred it slightly warmer, he was hot, typical). But not once did I ever feel an emotional chill from him, the kind I feel from man (see above), because he is structured, and solid, he is rooted into this here land, and he is not going anywhere. But I am. And I wonder if I will find a man who will be stationary with me, or move slowly with me at my pace, through a world that will invariably always move at a rate I will never be able to keep up with, nor would I ever choose to. Being left behind is fine by me, I enjoy my pace, it took me a long time to find it, through some really rough and tumble moments, where it took years to stop spinning and moving at such speed. Death curtails that. A curtain of truth. And in the end, as many love stories go, we must part amicably and hope to run into each other again, though most likely not. Because life moves in the direction it wants to, we only have so much say. And it has been a great exercise; falling in love is easy for me, saying good bye seems to be a pattern in life, but for me this will never come easy.
This is cabin fever.