It's been a while.
I've done so much, changed so much, decided so much in such a short time it astounds me. I won't go into it all. (does this make me a lazy author?) But most of the turmoil I've felt for the past year and a half is beginning to ebb, and quiet. I still have restless nights, but it's more from the heat, and intense creative waves then anything. I still get down on myself, but the lows are much higher then they used to be. (Think silently screaming on the floor.)
I've sent my query letter out to my first agent, along with a sample chapter. I've decided I'm moving to MA. and, little by little, I'm starting to understand exactly what it is I want out of this life. I want a group of intelligent, open minded friends that compliment my personality, and who I don't need to filter myself around. I want a spiritual teacher. I want to travel all over the world, not like a tourist, but an explorer with a few dusty possessions and a few bucks in my pocket. I think I want to meditate in a church some day. An old stone one, where the history still beats like a monk's calm heart. And I want to do the same thing in a temple somewhere in the mountains of India.
There's always been little things I've wanted. A cottage in a quiet spot in the woods and a meditation room. A house boat to spend my summers, but I never felt this want for them. Not in this patient, expectant way. The most astounding thing, I'm realizing I want things I never knew I did.
I want love, and life. At least once. It doesn't have to be forever, and sex does not have to be involved. But I want love and I want to laugh and dance in the open. And, damn it, I want to be selfish for once!
A long time ago I kept a personal journal. Somewhere down the line, I stopped. Of course I've kept many after that, but I filled it with meaningless things. Things that sounded pretty, intelligent, wise, almost like I was creating an identity for whoever stumbled across it one day and started reading. No more of that. I write about food, the people I meet, the places I visit. Of course my spirituality stays in tact on the pages. I wouldn't be me without it, but there's no strain to create something beautiful with my words because it's soul purpose is to get to know the one person I forgot to talk to over the growing years. Me.
Sometimes I jog at night, and I feel the universe open in my heart. I feel like it pours out of my eyes and if someone were to see me, they'd see it there, growing endlessly.