I've written about transitions. So many times. My belief is that the body moves more quickly than the spirit and so there is a period in which our spirit is still with the pervious space and we feel incomplete. It takes some time to fully embody the new way.
I just got back from Santa Cruz. Sarah and I were there three weeks working on the Riverside property. It was a grueling experience but ultimately satisfying. I miss it.
Being back in Portland means many great things. I am with my beloved Mr. Greenhill. I am surrounded by dear friends. Berries. River trips in the evening. Skinny-dipping. But I am also confronted with anxieties that are long held. My house is taking the brunt of what might otherwise feel like generalized nervousness. Objectively I know that I'm exhausted from the Riverside work and overwhelmed by the list of tasks that have built up in my absence. But subjectively I blame my house. It is very large and old and crumbly and crowded. It feels like the home of my former self. I've started looking at real-estate.
Just now I came into the studio and put on a Bob Dylan bootleg series. First up was a demo of Went to See the Gypsy and sobs tumbled out like vomit.
Loving is a heavy load. I never cease to love the places and people and selves I've been. I don't put them down. I grieve for them like the dead, cradled in my arms.