Extra. Ordinary.
So, what you have you been up to?
What have I been up to?
Pause.
Silence.
Honestly, I cannot remember.
Probably a lot. I’m not sure. Let me think.
Okay, how about this. I could tell you that I made sourdough bagels last week. Sure, they were good. Or I could describe how I’m planning to put wallpaper in the bathroom closet.
We could talk about how I feel like I’ve been driving a lot lately. To where? I have no idea.
I most likely made dinner several times. Yes, that’s right, the beef stew was particularly good. Sure, I can send you the recipe.
Oh yeah, my house sold, finally. What a relief.
If we’re going a bit deeper, I could tell you that he told me, “you’re a lot” one evening while holding me and wearing a smile. I could tell you in the moments that followed, I burrowed deep into a hole of shame and confusion and stayed there for three days. I could tell you that we (I) eventually moved through it, like we always do.
I could tell you that I’m thinking a lot about being a floating ball of energy lately. That I read a book that changed my life.
I could also tell you that the purple Pasqueflowers on our sloping lot are a potent soul salve. I could tell you that this land continues to hold me in a way that I didn’t know I needed.
Want to come create with me on our land? I am hosting pine needle basket workshops every month this summer. The next one is June 1!
I suppose I want to inform you that there’s a mama red fox tending to her grey babies down the road. Yes, she’s living under that shed, the tan one right by the road. Her babies tumble over each other in her watch.
Oh and I forgot! A few weeks ago, I witnessed a baby be pushed out of a vagina. Yes, yes, of course it is amazing. Profound, sure. And also? The most ordinary thing in the world.
I could tell you that I had one full morning of existential dread last week, though I cannot recall why, and then he and I watched live bluegrass that evening while eating pizza and I felt happy again.
Mostly though?
I don’t want to recount my days to you.
I do not want to list the ways I have moved through the space and time.
In fact, let’s not talk about days and hours and minutes.
Did you know, the soul is eternal?
How do I put into words the psychedelic experience of living in this human body?
How do I articulate this unfolding mystery? How all of life, every moment, feels like a continual act of letting go?
How do I tell you the ways in which I was held by god last week?
How do I express to you that my dreams feel like utter magic?