It has been a long time coming. Stepping off the plane was a dizzying experience, my senses overwhelmed by bright colors and clean air, the stark opposite from the dull polluted gray that is NY. It was also surreal. Not because I couldn’t believe it but because I felt like a part of me never left the last time I was here, and that I was just picking up where I left off. Surreal because suddenly I couldn’t tell you where the past 2 years of my life had gone as it all became a blur, a dream. I’m disoriented. It’s the feeling of stepping into a new life that you’ve seemingly already had established, that it was all just ready for your body to get with the program. It is also a sort of reincarnation in leu of what was left behind.
I’m in a personal year number of 1, a year for transformation and manifestation, as is the entire world. The last nine years of my life is a closed book now, and this is a new one. A continuation of the story, but its own story nonetheless, completely untethered and with my own hand guiding the pen. This year will set the stage for the next nine years of my life. It’s a year to remember, and a year for the history books (and globally too). What will I make with the resources at hand? What resources do I even have at my disposal? I’ve set out to discover just that.
While walking through the community I live in, I noticed how shut up each house was despite the beautiful weather and fresh ocean air. It was then that I began to have the passing feeling that my history in NY is actually a blessing. These people have no appreciation for the weather or beautiful scenery because they’ve never had to live without it. They’ve never had to live as caged animals for half of the year, or to have an uninhabitable climate where the air hurts your skin upon contact. Or perhaps these people have made their cages and prefer it there. Either way, I see my past as a blessing in this way, and so my windows will remain open.
I don’t and will never understand how people can see nature as a luxury. With all the tourists here, my immediate thought towards them wasn’t negative. It was “Wow, I get to live somewhere that people pay money to visit when they’re not working.” I wonder, do people know why it feels so good to be here? It is because the soul says ‘Ah! Finally. Something that is real enough to bring nourishment.’ If we don’t consider that a priority, or if we don’t appreciate it when it’s right in front of us, then we are as plastic as the things we buy.
Although I haven’t had the opportunity to post in a while, I recently had the honor to be a guest on Writer Emily Mundell’s blog. Thanks again Emily. Here is the link to that post, which was about my stance on internal inspiration .
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