journal 01. starting over

Today is September 19, 2018, and I am sitting in a living room that is empty, surrounded by candles that are held by brass holders that have witnessed so very much of what has occurred over these past 2 years inside of the walls of this sacred home I have built. The furniture has been moved, and the house is hauntingly similar to the very first nights that I spent here - same candle holders, same fireplace, same record player, same pooches; but a totally different life, with an enormously different path. I have bounced in and out of the healing space of my blog, I have been inconsistent with my shares and entries, and the simple reason is that I have been behind the scenes at times clinging to my own life, other times laying on the floor in desperation and utter heartache, and - over the past year - learning how to dance in the new life I have been given.

I have been tossed into the pit of grief over the past 2 years, I have experienced a loss so shattering to my soul that I had no choice but to fall to my knees in complete and total surrender; nothing has ever hurt me so badly as this loss did. Through the loss, however, a totally unexpected thing happened - the ashes of the forest fire became the fertile ground for newness to grow, the loss, the pain, it became the portal, and through it, I was spit out on the other side changed right down to my cells. My outlook is new, my attitude is different, I care less about the shit I used to stress over, my edges softened, my anger subsided, my heart opened, and my life was redirected. Today I am different, I no longer fit in the places I used to fit, and I don’t know what it is that life is wanting from me. I’m still trying to figure this all out - this new me, this new life - it’s beautiful, and yet it’s changed my heart is such cellular ways that I feel like a totally new human, and with that - I don’t know where the fuck I fit.

Tonight I sit here unsure of what is next, but with a newfound faith so deep that I feel totally confident that it is safe to sit in the authenticity of how I feel, and tonight I feel both gratitude and grief. My heart aches. My throat is pulsating with that old familiar emotional ‘lump’, and my face is wet - stained with infinite tears. Tears for what was, tears for the forest fire, and the lessons, and the sobriety I was gifted. Tears for new love, and old love, tears for the strength it took to get through this last chapter. Tears for god. Tears in awe, and tears in pain, and tears in gratitude. Cleansing tears. Grief tears. Joy tears.

I’m not sure where life is pulling me, I am not sure what it’s calling me to do, but I feel the need to reconnect with my words, and with sharing once again. This is my art. This is my voice. This is my healing modality. So much has changed, even my own blog feels like someones else’s online home - it’s going to take me some time to settle in, find my footing, and figure out what it is that I am saying and doing.

But I’m here, I’m back.

I’m taking a teeny tiny break after this chapter closes to head down the coast to Portland - a road trip is in order. The plan: drive, sing, drink coffee, play on parks, find every single hot spring we can, love the man I was gifted with all of my heart. I intend to write prayers + burn them, I plan to send wishes out to the universe, prayers for other humans, and mostly I intend to fall into the arms of Mother Earth, on the coast I love the most, in pure gratitude - because as horrifying as that last chapter was, as painfully as it hit my heart, I have learned that what truly happened in those days was life handed me a second chance. Life got big and sent her most powerful teacher, grief - and then grief took me, and I listened. And on the days I thought I wouldn’t make one-single-more-moment, I remembered to breathe, I remembered to simply take the next best step. And then one-day griefs waves crashed a little less frequent, and I could breathe a little easier, and now today the sun has come out and I can see with such clarity that the only truth for me to hold is the truth of gratitude and faith.

So as this chapter closes and the next begins, and as my heart aches tonight, and the tears seem endless, I simply want to relish in the miracle that has occurred - I never ever thought the light would be for me, and here I am - happy, sober, and free.

Thank You, Life. THANK YOU.

Only Love,

- k