I write of Hope
This week I had to find Hope again. I lost her.
So I didn’t post until I found it.
It wasn’t at the surface so the bread had to bake a little longer.
It’s a process.
Why? Asked Leslie. Why don’t you write?
But I do. I write daily. I just don’t share this week.
But you’ve shared so much. Why not now?
Because I’m unbaked bread. You can’t take the bread out of the oven before the center is baked through.
I’ve been baking this week.
Figuratively.
Not literally.
Literally I’ve been boiling octopus and potatoes covering them with the juice of one giant lemon, a generous pour of olive oil and sprinkling them with pink Himalayan salt. I made polpo e patate one night. My favorite seafood salad.
Another night I sliced some wild boar sausage which made me think of that night with Veronika- I can’t believe you made wild boar pasta she said again and again - and I ate it with French cheese and crispy bread. French butter leaf salad is now available so I sloshed it in a dressing made of the last of the mustard, a squeeze of lemon and the good olive oil from an ex boyfriends mom. I ate more of Arts chicken soup. Tonight I’ll have some of his brodo and homemade tortellini he brought me today.
Then there was the night with the couscous, red peppers and lamb.
I slept a lot this week.
One day I wrote 12 hours on end making progress on my book.
Sarah and I spent hours working on the new website. You’ll be seeing it - and some new services that I hope will make me money- soon.
And I dreamed.
I found a spot in the sun where I could sit and I listened to podcasts. I read magazines Miles sent me from London. At home I burned a Love candle from Sibel in my office as I worked and Bella’s Candles became my morning meditation- I can’t decide if Tomato Leaf or Lime Basil Mandarin is my favorite - a gift from Gretchen. I colored my hair with hair dye from Kristi and I fielded phone calls from Derrick - You’re impossible to get ahold of - he said- for someone stuck at home you sure are busy - this text coming through and I read it live as I recorded my latest podcast. I even downloaded Words with Friends to play with Joe. Don’t get too excited I haven’t made my first move. And Andrea called and made me smile. I even colored in Bo Martins coloring books. I ate chocolate from Marly, Mariska and Dawn. Phil and Dee sent flowers. My house was filled with roses.
I know I am loved.
I read.
And truthfully I cried. A lot.
Depression won more days than not.
A giant sob would burst from me so unexpected. Fredrik from Belgium called and he let me cry- and I mean ugly cry - on the phone for an hour. Jean Pierre and Danielle are Concerned. I can tell. They call not for work but to talk. As are Margaret and Gail. And Sarah suggested Prosecco. She like you sees when I disappear I’m probably not in a good place.
Lorie and I drank too much wine on the phone one night and talked of Eckhardt Tolle and Hermann Weiss. I’ve become a philosopher in quarantine.
I’m lonely.
I need people. Yes I have virtual. But I need to be touched. I need a hug. Heck, I need sex.
You can tell me that virtual helps. And it does. But somedays I’m about ready to throw my phone into the canal.
So I shut off all notifications and I only opened text messages when I wanted to - not when the phone told me to.
I took control back of my time.
I worried a lot about money - but I took a consulting gig and found a way to pay some of my bills and to pay the key players who keep my company running. It wasn’t easy.
I switched gears.
Years ago in Paris I took Yoga with Pauline and she taught me to stand on my head. You see things differently from this vantage point. The blood pumping in your brow - pumping through your pituitary glands - bringing focus, a clear mind, and happiness. A shift in hormones.
So I didn’t post on social media.
I was baking unbaked bread.
Someone said you write of misery - If misery is what you read, then you’re not my people, that’s pearls to the pigs my friend stop reading me if you only see misery - my only use for pigs is bacon - I write of Hope. Those who feel me know that when I write it’s brutal and raw because I am not afraid to be uncomfortable- but I write of Hope.
And this week I had to find Hope again. I lost her.
So I didn’t post until I found it.
It wasn’t at the surface so the bread had to bake a little longer.
It’s a process.
Being willing to to share my soul is not easy.
But I share because I believe it helps you and it helps me.
Writing is my ministry.
I look for hope. For you and for me.
For we.
When we can find a thread of Hope in Truth- it resonates. It’s that Aha moment when you say... Yes... that’s what I’ve been trying to say but couldn’t. So I baked.
I baked until loneliness became solitude and solitude gave way to universal truth.
We need people.
When you embrace solitude you become one with the universe says Lao Tzo.
I feel you.
You feel me.
You can call it Woo-woo but there is a collective conscious.
It’s why you say how does she not know me but know what I’m thinking and it’s why my cats who have never tried to escape in their life want to break free and run on the neighbors roof top.
We feel each other.
We are energy.
We are vibrations.
We are emotions in motion.
We are all connected with one God. One creator.
So I bake. I bake. And I listen. And I study. And I think. And I discuss ideas. I baked this week so I would be able to invite you back to my table for a warm loaf of bread with salted butter.
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