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Another day. “count your blessings”  I tell myself.  I am tired, I pushed too hard last Friday trying to wrestle a day off, by doing two days worth of work into one. I’m still paying, well, my muscles are. When you spend 7 years working on computers, physical work is a true punishment. It’s not that my work is so hard, it’s just that I became so soft.

When the morning comes, I don’t want to get up but once I’m outside, I smile. It is so beautiful and it will be either the horses or the goats who will greet me “good morning”. “Hello babies” I respond. I am actually impartial about what I’m doing.  I ask what they need me to do and I work until they say to stop.  I had a bit of a break down last week. I understood that it was 5 days on 2 days off but after 21 days I realized it was never going to come.  I started to get upset, then did this marathon, and got to sleep in the next morning but I was so sore that I didn’t sleep the night.  So it’s about one step and another and being totally in the moment.  I observed that when I need a day off, it rains or snows or freeze outside… no joke.  “count your blessings”  It’s about being in the very moment. It’s about respecting what my body says, and if it means I’ll work slowly then, that is what it is.  Steady.  No people pleasing.  It doesn’t work anyways.  So I surrender… that word again.  I have to surrender to all that is, and not try to battle something out of the situation.  I’m not the boss.

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I’ve been spending more time outside than I have in years and years and it is like a kind of growing addiction, the sun, the earth, the birds, the trees, they are all operating some sort of voodoo and some days I’m energized and others I’m completely drained. But every day I want to be out there. A bit like when I left Vancouver in 2010 and could not get enough of the sun’s rays.  I am totally enamored with the birds’ singing.  There is a Nightingale every night, he sings a multitude of songs. When I work in the garden, it’s so quiet, I suddenly tune in to the little “river” to be honest it’s more like a creek but they all it river.  And along the sweet sound of water running there is the symphony of all the birds, and as I toil on the soil, taking out this hard headed clover, I am being … what is the word… “reprogrammed” by this music, and then the sun… and the earth.  Being a human, on my knees, in the dark earth, doing a little job, that will help feed humans. Unnoticed.  Quiet.

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I’ve been here for 26 days, I don’t know how long I will stay. Like for most people, tomorrow is a mystery. Who knows what the world will be like in 2 weeks? The hardest thing is to have no friends near. To have no close person. I have not physically touched another human since … February 18th except for the hug with my host when I first arrived and another hug with a woman who came here.  Thankfully the animals are here, healers of the human heart.

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Sunday, on Easter, I went to walk up in the meadow, the horses were up there, I wanted to go and sketch them, but as I got there, I just took photos and sat with them. They were day dreaming it seemed, standing up in the warmth, some lying down, they would come and visit me. I felt like this was my initiation. I had been among them, cleaning their shit and giving them hay but they were pretty aloof. After this visit in the meadow, it feels like now they recognize me in a different way. That too is a kind of intoxication. Away from walls, and cement and cars and noise and too many humans, suddenly there is another sort of equilibrium that is taking place, a different energetic balance between all living things, visible and invisible.

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At times I cry. I sit on the earth and cry. Just tears rolling out of my eyes and this energy draining from my body. I’m not sure what I feel, if I feel, how I feel… I aim to not fall into dramatizing anything, the situation, the people, the relationships, the aching body, the uncertainty. We never did know what the future held before, we just pretended we did. Now it’s just more difficult to fake security, on this fire ball covered in a crust of burning rock, flying through the universe at thousands of miles per hour, one has to be glib to pretend there ever was security.

I dream of a nest for myself.

I also dream of travels in deserted wide open places.

I thought of a caravan of sorts… an earth ship in a remote village.

Going through the lands with a horse, or a bicycle.I dream of writing new songs that would really express what I feel for my instrument.

But for that one I’m not only dreaming, I’ve been practicing, almost daily (some days I was just too tired to be able to play at all) I found a trove of guitar methods online for free. I have the Go guitar and it’s not obvious to play classical guitar stuff on it, it’s a very different kind of beast. But when I listen to classical guitarists, I don’t want to emulate that. There is something missing with classical guitarists… I always have to follow my own musical voice, I never could conform to schools of thought…

I am rambling.

Drop me a line, write if you can. I miss you.

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