“It's exhilarating to be alive in a time of awakening consciousness; it can also be confusing, disorienting, and painful.” - poet Adrienne Rich
It's been over a month since the move. Before, during and immediately after packing up and leaving our home of twenty-five years, I thought, or felt perhaps, that my early adult years as a road musician had prepared me for a big move. The belief that everything would make it from "point A" to "point B" with a minimum of mess was based on my memories of living out of suitcases and making funky living quarters livable. Recent memories of over a quarter of a century in one place didn't seem relevant last month, but these memories have become shiny lifelines to sanity, order and survival today.
Our old life in Los Angeles is like a solitary lighthouse on the brink of a dark sea. It is tangible proof of a familiar place and time, comforting as we sail into the dark and unfamiliar. The brightness is with us for a long time and helps us get our bearings and keep on course, but even after a short thirty or forty days, the light fades.
We've worked hard to create a good living space in the desert, away from the familiar sea. We were raised in this desert and I'm amazed at how quickly I feel good here. My family and friends make it a home. The stark beauty and little dangers make it interesting.
There may not be the fear of drive by shootings, earthquakes, wildfires, and other big city disasters, but there is an uphill battle to accept the coyotes, scorpions, spiders, and other comparatively benign wildlife here. Earlier last month, my heightened awareness of little dangers like stepping on creatures that sting, or power outages, or getting lost on a trail was strong. Now, it's fading and I am much more comfortable with the true quiet at night and the true blackness of night and a true connection with unfettered nature.
I feel untethered from the burden of big city cares and woes. I feel life and find that I don't think of death as much as I used to. Being alive is a full time job.