I’ve been off lately. Questioning my gut instincts. Ignoring my gut health. Letting the cobwebs build up and my excuse: waiting for the duster to arrive / waiting for the dust to clear out on its own / hiding from the dust. I’ve been having some prolific thoughts, about peace and battle, control and release. We know I’m a little Tinker Bell – as I’d argue much of the Bad Kid clan is – and can only hold one bright and burning emotion at a time in this malleable body of mine. I’m as translucent as a cornea, as confused as a sleepy child, and I will never stop searching / dreaming / hoping.
I went on a silent retreat at the meditation center of which I am a member. It was explorific. So refreshing to find large stretches of time to do nothing but stare at the wall, or the wood-burning fireplace. I took a nap (!) and slept sooooo much. And finally tackled mindful eating, where I’d make small bowls of porridge or salad last for thirty minutes. Most of all, it left me craving more. It begged me to look at my incredibly privileged life full of wonderfully peaceful moments and always having enough, and find spaces I can enjoy that more.
I’m starting with my home. We’re going to grow things. We’re going to tend them and put them on display and look upon them with gratitude and look to them for energy and grounding. We’re going to bring color and design to the walls with more artwork. We’re going to feng shui and clear out and build up.
I’m refocusing my body. I’m doing yoga every damn day. I’ve invested in a local farm (a la community-shared agriculture) and asked them to feed me week-to-week. I’ve been reinspired by beautiful food-crafters to create more awesome meals at home. I’m still not big on meal prepping, but I think I can squeeze in some meal plans to make things a bit more evolved than sauteed vegetables. I’m letting the sunshine into my skin (okay, it finally arrived back to the coast after a record wet winter) and the salt water under my feet. And let’s all drink more water, okay?
Below is a poem I wrote on the silent retreat crouched next to a hopi medicine wheel on top of a hill surrounded by valleys and hills of the countryside.
Silence — B. Barak, 2017
I wish I could know
about our ancestors
and what makes the world
a shiny, bright thing of terrible beauty
and a dark, eternal night
of hope and despair.
I don’t want a story
or a bible
or an ancient burial ground.
I want to know
in this soul of mine they say I have.
I want to know the way I know unconditional love.
I want to know the way I know utter exhaustion.
I want to know the way I know music riding on the wind and brushing
the hair across my face like a kiss
of simple and incredible love.
I want to be born into the arms of my heritage
and know where my body resides.