I have been away from the loom for a couple of weeks. The journey is unfolding in strange and unexpected ways. The carefully planned expedition has turned into an adventure that has fallen from the sky, tumbling me out of my dreams and into a new reality.
Prophetically, I wrote in mid-january that I did not want to arrive half-naked and shivering at my destination. I wanted to weave my way home. Yet, here I am packing boxes and making whirlwind visits to to secure my future in the place where I belong. I am wide awake and no longer dreaming. I can weave when I get there. My black rags may have to clothe me for a while longer, but I am on the journey home.
In Buddhism, those who are on the path of the bodhisattva, those who strive to live in the moment and ease the suffering of the world, are said to be awake.
I leave you with a small glimpse of my misted hills. In winter, so many of the colors are just memories, but I stood at the window for a long time, drinking in the view until the sun set behind me.