inhabiting

This past weekend I spent up at my land in the Sonoma hills, within crow fly of the ocean. I haven’t spent any time there for a year and a half. Being there was all mixed up with memory of the great unraveling of my last relationship. It was just too painful. It was there, while I was celebrating the spring equinox, that my lover’s brother committed suicide. That suicide, an ending for David, turned out to be the beginning of incredible heartbreak for me. Going there this last weekend, as fall equinox approaches, was a ritual of closure. As all of those rituals are, it was also a ritual of beginning. The time of heartbreak is officially over. The healing has been well under way for awhile, and it’s clear what the remaining work is to do.

Being there, it became abundantly clear that if you don’t inhabit a space, somebody else will. The cookhouse and other dwellings have been taken over by the rodents. To get them back, I or others will have to once again inhabit them. I cleaned up the mess, tore out the nests, boiled mint to fill the space with a smell I like and they detest, and poured mint water and also essential oil over every surface. Traps will have to be set or poison left. My cats may need to get more mobile. I’m obsessed now with this pursuit, searching the net for a poison that won’t affect the owls, hawks, or crows who might prey on a weakened and
fleeing rat. What a deep meditation this is! To rid oneself of something without hurting something else down the line.

The garden too is becoming overgrown, brambles choking out fruit trees and thistles spreading. My legs and arms are considerably scratched, but now a lime and pear tree are liberated, free to grow unencumbered.

I’m back in the city, but committed to once again fully inhabiting all parts of myself, of staying conscious of what is in danger of strangling that which bears fruit, of staying vigilant of ridding myself of pests and vermin, of staying responsible once again to that rickety little cottage in the wild. It will take some work, and I may need to enlist some help, but I’m finally ready and willing. It’s time.