Thirty-one days of camping, juicing, of cooking nutritious meals. What I did cook today – salmon in tomato broth, oregano, basil, and olive bread with garlic and sautéed mushrooms in butter – all tasted good but weariness is all I could taste. Even the bees sensed my restlessness, as they hovered around me, buzzing, teasing me as if to bite me, yet, I managed to calm myself down.
I do not sleep like a log – I move about and when there’s skimpy space to move inside the van, I wake up and I wake up my husband as well. Then, it is about falling asleep again, which as one ages, grows more gray hair and is not as easy to do.But as difficult and taxing it is to my physical body, the rewards are priceless – seeing the sunset – a blue line, a gold line, intersecting with white clouds, and then receding golden sun’s rays; a deep blue lake from a mountain that blew its top – a metaphor for blowing one’s top off, releasing all one’s toxic energies accumulated from past hurts/trauma to reveal a magnificent purity within, where good energies can be channeled back and forth and not stopped.
I call it an open heart, allowing others to influence you, to persuade you, to see it from their perspective, not just my own. My husband calls it a deeply rooted tree without rocks to stop the inflow of nutrients from the soil, after watering.And just when I am about to give up camping, my husband hurries us both to see Watchman lookout at sunset. How gorgeous it is – blue, gray, gold, white bands, and then a blue backdrop – and my weariness evaporates with the howling music of the winds. Howling, haunting, but also soothing, and liberating for one’s spirit to join with the winds.
