7 Year Itch

That little canvas was a gift from a woman I’ve never met.

Truth be told, I saw it and it scared me.

I wanted what I wanted goddammit. Or I thought I did.

I just moved to a beautiful house. There was a boy. He returned.

Then I saw another door.

And peeked at the other side.

Magic.

Right on time it seems. Always is.

On February 14^th 2018 I will have been emancipated from my sham of a marriage for 7 years.

7 years prior, right around the same time of year, was when I entered that particular contract.

It takes 3 weeks to make or break a habit. Or, if you are me, 7 years.

The time before the farm and the marriage was rather unremarkable.

7 years split between 2 alcoholics, or 10 between 3 if I am being honest and I always am.

I left one version of perdition for another, though I did not know it at the time.

Maybe I was paying my penance forward, or I just needed lessons upon motherfucking lessons.

I didn’t realize until I had long left the farm how much I learned. Physically, mentally and practically.

I can survive quite nicely on my own. Keep a house warm in winter, feed many with little. Grow things, tend to the sick, make an awful lot out of nothing and survive absolutely everything up until this point.

I know how to pack my car to live quite comfortable for quite some time. I can build homes from nothing, just 4 walls and a bed.

And I am on my way to do just this.

It is my belief that we have certain fates, karma (whatever you want to call it) to fulfill. Certain people we are supposed to meet. I have had soul sisters, soul brothers and soul mates galore. I see them clearly now. And they are calling me home.

I am not saying our whole life is planned out before we are born, no no. But I think in each life we have universal obligations to meet. Soul mates to find and teach, who will in turn teach us. And a whole lot of lessons about what we don’t want.

I have felt the discord and agony of playing small, hiding from what I should be doing and apparently, every 7 years it gets to be too much for me, so little by little then all at once, I get the courage to run into the future.

I imagine I felt (and feel) like a cicada when it is time to wake up and start singing.

I have been dormant long enough.

This time though, I welcomed my lessons, invited new, rearranged all of my broken bits into a beautiful mosaic.

I feel good. Strong. Prepared.

So it’s been 7 years.

Now what?

Second verse, same as the first.

I am currently mentally sorting my belongings, what goes what stays, moving things around in yet another in a long line of storage spaces. Do I keep my bed? It is the first big girl bed I ever bought that wasn’t a futon. How much stuff can I fit in my car? What do I need to make me happy where I am going?

I have realized the answer is ‘not much’.

I am already content where I will be.

There is a prolific absence of doubt.

I have done the dress rehearsal for this. I know my lines and directions.

I have practiced this so much it is all coming naturally to me.

The foundation has been laid, stage set.

All I have to do now is move into the future.

Sacred contracts waiting to be filled.