Our old house sold yesterday. As I read the email letting us know that the South Florida leg of our journey had, at last, reached a closing point I felt the tiniest bit of sadness. The feeling was a clenching of the heart, like a tiny green worm burrowing into a sweet autumn apple. Anyone who knows how I've felt about the lesser aspects of South Florida living (which is pretty much anyone who would listen) will probably find humor in my writing this. For me, though, there's zero irony to be found in feeling sad for the closing, both of the house sale and the chapter of our lives that was South Florida. I appreciate the twinge of loss, because it means that I deeply cherished the beauty that I did live while there. Very few times of life reflect total loss. There are almost always wonderful things to be found among the weeds. And, for that matter, some weeds are beautiful in their own right.
I have never been made for city living. My spirit expands in the forest, on the tops of mountains, at a lakeshore where the water reflects the ever reaching sky. For the past year, I struggled nearly every day to maintain my zen within the confines of an urban environment that was growing more toxic by the day. My husband had wanted to sell our house for quite awhile, but I was only able to let it go once my heart had become too choked with the soot of daily life to bear any more time in our existing city space. Such is the way of life, I suppose. We hold on so tightly, until one day we realize our palms are bleeding from the force of our squeezing, and we open our hands to greater possibilities. About a year ago, I stretched my arms wide to the sky and released everything; the fear, the expectation, the death grip I'd had on what was.
Our family created amazing and beautiful memories in our home in Hollywood. I miss the goose who lives on our former lake, enough some days that thinking about him brings tears to my eyes. We'd become kindred spirits, helping each other through the rough spots. I miss the community we had there; our environment is different here in mostly good ways, but when you move away from the city you also move away from some of the cool things cities offer. In some ways I wish the drive back wasn't so long, but we needed to move so many miles away in order to find the other things we were searching for. There is always a sacrifice to be made when pursuing our dreams.
Yesterday, my husband and our neighbors' son found an owl on the side of the road leading to our new house. The poor thing had literally fallen out of the sky by the front of my husband's truck. They brought her to our house and our daughter and her friends marveled over how cute she was. The little owl (most likely a screech owl) sat, nearly unmoving, in my lap for a long while before finally climbing up my shirt to hide beneath my hair. She seemed strong; perhaps she'd been momentarily stunned by something out in the woods. After the moon rose, we placed her in ma tree behind our house, hoping she'd find her wings again and return home to the wilds. This morning, she was gone. I searched the tree, as well as the ground all around it, but she'd flown off after having gifted us with the most magical of experiences (we go crazy over owls in our house), and my spirit was lightened knowing that she would not be spending any time caged. Isn't this similar to our journeys of change? Life knocks us down, and for a moment we're paralyzed, stunned by the realization that we've been blind sided by something that we need to take better consideration of. We try to hide, but then we find ourselves lifted up, to a higher place where the view is clearer. It's from here that we can fly.
Wild things should not be caged. Nor should our own hearts.
Namaste.
