Here in Phoenix people have begun referring to the present “season” as SUMMER. We had our first triple digit day last week, reminding us that the cool carefree days of Spring are coming to a close. Me, I’m just watching. Watching the green turn to brown, and the once purple, yellow, and orange splashed desert fade into drab earth tones. Rainy winters guarantee a spectacular wildflower showing in Spring, and then come Summer, an equally spectacular wildfire season. I am not a fan of the Phoenix summer, but I’m not feeling cranky. I feel content, the french doors in my bedroom are open, allowing the song of a Whiperwhil duet mixing with the sound of the pool pump to simultaneously fill my ears. The sun is going down, dropping lazy shadows here and there, the temperature is comfortable, and I feel just fine.
I’m still here. It’s almost June, and I haven’t packed a thing. I haven’t given notice at my job, I haven’t found someone to live in this house, I don’t have a job in San Francisco. I have fishing lines tossed out in several different ponds, but as of yet, no bites. I do have somewhere to stay for a while, but otherwise, I’m still as here as I’ve ever been. I suddenly feel like I could stay here forever. Right here.
But I know I will leave. Today Josette told me in her Texas twang, “when it’s time for you to go, you’ll be catapulted outta there!” And I do believe her. I’ve been paying attention. Divine timing. That’s the kinda timetable I’m dining on. That’s the kinda time my watch keeps. My resistance to what is has been replaced by a deep, sweet, surrender. I am in no hurry. For anything.
Last year, in March, I was inspired while riding my bike down 7st. I was on my way to yoga, the air smelled sweet, and a cool breeze kept me company as I pedaled my caffeinated self to the studio. I was riding my Cannondale while ducking my head to avoid being slapped in the face by a row of hulking yellow flowered palo verde trees , when it breathed itself into me. The name for the workshop. I spent the hour and a half of my yoga practice allowing myself to be filled up with tidbits of details, Write it Down, Dog! Yes.
I went to Taos in June to have a writing retreat with my SUPERDUPERWRITINGFRIENDS ( the name of our club), Shannon and Robin. I had been thinking about the structure and practice for a couple of months, but it was still just all in my head, I threw an impromptu Write it Down, Dog! for the two of them. They dug it. They love me, but they are quite discerning, and wouldn’t shoot smoke up my ass. They love me too much for that. I knew then about how long the workshop would take, and I trusted them that they had a powerful experience. Yes.
I had been thinking and talking about the workshop for over a year. I had been wrestling with myself, to the point of exhaustion, in an effort to DO IT. With no success. Just the usual one foot on the gas, and one foot on the brake, leading to several hours spent under the covers in the middle of the day, wondering why I couldn’t get my shit together.
Now I know that I was gestating.
Then, the energy magically showed up to “catapult” me into action. I went into active labor. I set a date for the workshop. Eric put it on the calendar at the studio. I went to San Francisco for a weekend and I came home thinking I wouldn’t do the workshop yet, I would tell Eric I changed my mind, because I needed to devote all my energy to MOVING TO SAN FRANCISCO. I went to yoga the morning after I got back, all ready to cancel, when Jane said to me, “I’m so excited about your workshop!” Huh? I asked her how she knew about it, and she explained the flyers all over the studio. Eric had asked me for some photos to use for the flyer, I hadn’t gotten back to him, so I assumed I was safe. but Eric is Eric. He is a man with a willpower made of titanium. He takes ACTION. He waits for no one. I was now committed. My third chakra quivered with delight.
I gave birth to the workshop yesterday.
The energy was there to do the laboring. It was fun, I was inspired. I spent hours preparing. The labor was relatively painless; it was easy. The birth on the other hand…..HELL. I have never felt so terrified for such an extended period of time in my life. At least not consciously terrified, where I wasn’t seeking some escape from the uncomfortableness. I stayed with the terror, I felt it ALL, and when you are giving birth, you can’t go back, you can’t push the head back in and stick a cork in there. You want to. I wanted to, but I couldn’t. I was channeling so much energy, I felt like I was going to burst into flames. It was painful. Afterwards, I was in love with each and every one of the thirty something groovy souls that came to WIDD. But I felt like I never wanted to do it again. It was that hard. The energy. Wow. But I survived, and the baby is beautiful. I am proud. She is so new, and I am looking forward to watching her grow and blossom. Of course I will do it again. Hell yeah! I don’t even remember the pain. What pain?
So, I am still here. Summer is sneaking his big , hot , sweaty-ball-busting self into our space, and so far, I’m fine. The energy to pack up my closet, find a house renter, make those phone calls, or send that piece of paper to what’s-his-name , from what’s-it-called agency isn’t there right now. It could be tomorrow. I don’t know. I’m gestating, and I don’t know how long it will last.
Today our high temperature was a lovely 85 degrees. Unseasonably cool. I hiked Squaw Peak, and drove around all day with the top down. I may go into active labor any day now, but my new baby is keeping me quite busy, so I am content.
I trust that all is happening according to the timing of a clock made out of numbers I can only read when I am still and quiet, and for now, it says HERE.