Something funny happened on the way to the Pacific North West. I completely lost my identity. I'd been working on letting go, of everything. Opening up to the new and unexpected. Adventure. The angels kept reminding me: 555. I was looking forward to it. Looking forward to living what we had been thinking. Moving from mind to matter.
When we got here, the place was better than I had imagined. The natural beauty was intoxicating. Some sort of mysterious heaven on earth. Yet as beautiful as this wonderland is - and it truly is a wonderland - I still felt off. There was still an underlying bleakness within me.
We said 'we'll start again'. And that's what we did. It meant surrendering to everything. Which I was prepared for and thought I had done once I got on that transatlantic British Airways flight with my partner in crime and my babies in the hold. Letting go of your life. It's an interesting concept. It's like dying. It doesn't just mean saying good bye to friends and family and selling your house and closing the book on all the work and time you created for that particular novel. It means saying goodbye to you. If you truly embrace the experience, you let go of your history, your feelings, your story. I don't know if it was because I was older this time around, more set in my ways, because I brought my entire family over with me, because we'd never lived - let alone been - in the PNW before or because I landed a great job in corporate america (imagine that). And it doesn't even matter why. The truth of the matter is that we decided to change the story - big time - and so the narration had to change too. The idea was to be more open, bigger, grow, expand and give more, give more, give more.
And then there was nothing more to give away. There was nothing left. And there it was, the identity crisis. Everything I associated myself with in this world, so far, had changed or was gone. We even looked different: my hair went straight, paul shaved his head and is now a rebel spirit soldier. Our bodies felt different. Stronger, tired. Our eyes didn't have the same background in them any longer. They changed colour. They were ablaze. On fire. Erupting, Big Banging, Giving birth to new constellations. Creating new worlds. And that what was what we came here to do. So we tried our best to look after ourselves, and we did ok. It was hard. But all along our eyes kept gleaming. That was the check-in. And that is how I know we were doing the right thing. I delved deep into paul's eyes and my own reflection in the mirror, and even Bixo's. And what I saw there mesmerised me. It was the unknown. Like the message in the fire: you see it and you feel it. You understand it and you don't, but you can't look away. My cat's eyes: He told us we were all still there. Connected. Alive. Now, more than ever.
As I sit here, on the first morning of the year 5778, one day before the Autumn Equinox, everything has fallen into place. We've been here for 16 months. It feels like an entire lifetime. I guess that's what happens when you reinvent yourself. I forgot. And when I say reinvent, I mean it. That is all you are ever here to do. Where ever you do it. However you do it. Just watch your world unfold for you and observe. It's truly the most spectacular event you will ever take part in on this earth.