Another stunning view I came across on my sojourns across Montana towards the Oregon coast. Montana is full of surprises and a favorite of mine.
While crossing Montana on a desolate highway in the middle of a vast country land, I received welcome respite from a rainbow on the way…
I saw a very cool spin on a traditional no trespassing sign in many places on my way down from Canada into Michigan. I like it and it’s good use of recycling. ; )
In the dream I was standing on a seashore looking at an earthen house built into the side of a small mountain. I noticed there was a path of sorts up the side of the house towards the top of a cliff so I climbed it to see what was up there.
As I reached the top, I came up eye-level to the corner of a beautiful, shimmering lake mirroring a majestic, snow capped mountain on the other side.
There were dozens and dozens and dozens of otters and they all started swimming towards me in greetings.
I climbed back down to let people know of such beauty up there and about the otters. As I reached the shore again, I realized I was carrying two little newborn puppies I brought down from up there — they were wet, literally born from the lake. I gave them to a family with kids walking by the shore to take care of them.
As I left them I strolled by the shore with the water lapping at my feet and suddenly noticed a tall but small bird with tinges of pink lying on its side, struggling very weakly to get up and unable to do so. I reached down, cupped it in my hands, and lifted it up to heal it and I woke up.
* * *
Later in my morning meditation I reflected upon that part and realized with a jolt that the wounded/exhausted bird was me and I was reaching down to heal myself in that sense. The bird had not flown for awhile and that was also me, needing to fly free again…
This afternoon while hitting a couple auto parts stores fruitlessly looking for a fuse (apparently only available in Canada) for my power inverter, one of the clerks saw the kayak on top of my car and said he enjoyed kayaking too.
It was a slow night at the store and his comment sparked an intriguing conversation where we each shared the best kayaking spots in the area.
It was great shooting back and forth wowing each other with tales of special rivers and lakes over the next few minutes. By the time we were done we had covered almost all of central Florida’s hot spots.
It was a blast and I truly enjoyed it as well as the clerk.
While may be a lone wolf, in my finer moments I enjoy being social. ; )
* * *
I see people jogging or biking or such in the heat of the day and it still sparks a pang of envy that they’re able do it while I can’t just yet.
They make it look so effortless and easy.
I know my time will come eventually, but this envy serves a good purpose:
To never take such things for granted again.
* * *
At the local library I like to sit looking out their tall windows and watch the goings on (it also makes for a good meditation spot).
I witnessed a middle age lady pull into a parking spot designated for the handicapped. She got out of her car and strolled at a brisk pace up to the library while carrying several books.
I started judging her for this, thinking she was taking up a spot from someone else less abled.
Then I remembered the early stages of my ongoing dance with Mr. Lyme when I wished I had a handicaped tag because after a short distance walking I’d get winded. Also being able to park closer to entrances also would mean less melting in the Florida heat at a time when I couldn’t tolerate being outside in 85 degree or higher weather for more than ten minutes.
I silently walked back my judgement.
Although I’m aware handicapped passes are abused by some, I realize there are many who have more invisible handicaps or situations that I wouldn’t be aware of on the surface of things.
Life sure has a strange way of teaching lessons, but it’s a good thing as it means continued growth… and living.
A couple days ago I blew past my goal of walking two miles with a 2.4 mile mark and it felt great.
Today I could only muster 1.7 miles and didn’t feel so hot afterwards.
That’s the nature of the beast with Mr. Lyme.
Some days you can push, some you can’t.
I’ve learned to deal with that by being mindful it’s overall progress over time that counts.
I’m actually happy that I listened to my body and stopped at 1.7 miles. Normally I’d push further and would have likely paid the price for it.
In just over a two month span I’ve gone from barely able to do quarter miles to hitting a couple miles.
I’ll take that.
Slow and steady and ever so faithful continued healing with each step (and paddle!) I make.
I think I’m gonna reward myself anyway with a chocolate coated peanut butter popsicle. ; )
Over my nomadic travels, I’ve looked into thousands and thousands of your eyes through different interactions of all kinds.
I’ve seen the most brilliant variety of colors in ’em all, ranging from black to brown, blue to green, and even from grey to white.
I’ve also witnessed all ranges of emotions within yours. Joy, anger, ambivalence, agony, sorrow, depression, sexual, curious, innocent, weariness and danger.
Sometimes the emotion in your eyes didn’t match your personaility in the moment. Despair pretending to be joy, anger pretending to be nice, (and vice versa) and so on.
(It’s true when they say you can’t hide behind your eyes, at least to empaths like myself.)
You more authentic folks didn’t have filters. What I saw was what I got. Sometimes it was startling, mostly it was refreshing because you were being real even if it wasn’t always a positive emotion.
Sometimes your eyes tell deep stories, such as the survivor from brain cancer behind the counter at her sandwich shoppe. I could tell she’d been through hell and back and she said so.
Some of your eyes had soul wisdom. It was often those of you living under tough circumstances, such as the extraordinary soul I befriended near my campsite who lost her mother and home at the same time.
Some of your eyes were flinty, unsure, and insecure. Those are the ones I’m wary about because when they’re uncertain like that, I’ve learned their ethics are also uncertain. Like some of the folks I hung out with in Mexico over Christmas who ended up breaking my heart.
And there are the angels like the intellectual nomad who pulled up in a rickety, barely functioning camper next to me and we ended up spending a starry night talking about all kinds of mind-stretching and heart-warming topics. I’m certain he was a fallen angel come to earth in disguise.
The one commonality I’ve noticed lurking behind all your eyes across all these lands?
They’re all the same.
All part of a vast, universal soul.
Walked over two miles (2.4 to be exact!) today…
It’s funny how two miles was nuttin’ in the past; it’s what I usually did each morning with a cup of coffee to wake up into the day.
Yet today it’s a big milestone out of the way and I’m happy. It’s also a mental hurdle fallen by the wayside post-lyme recovery. It took a long time to get there, but now that my body is starting to get back to the way it was, it’s getting easier to make progress.
I’m still stunned by how much Mr. Lyme can wipe a healthy body out so thoroughly. When I was told it took an average of a year minimum to recover (if that — some folks take years), I didn’t really believe it. I do now even though I’m well ahead of that curve.
I don’t always have the best of days just yet, but I’m grateful I’m getting better and beginning to be able to do the things I love.
My biggest goal is to get back to nomad life in my camper. That’s where my bliss is and I have a feeling once I get there, healing will come even more rapidly because nature is where my heart is.
Yesterday I hauled my kayak out to Newnans lake for a sojourn on the water. It’s the second time out paddling since recovering from a too-long dance with Mr. Lyme.
The gentle swells and swaying of the kayak is soothing, a perfect balm for a soul missing its tangles with nature.
It was nice to have enough strength to make my own wake in the water as in the past. I like seeing my wake, it’s visible confirmation I’m churning and burning up calories.
At the end, I noticed I was sweating. Although seemingly silly, it’s another first on my return to health journey and it felt so darn good to be a little drenched in it.
I love sweating, it’s a release and mark of a job well done towards getting back in good shape.
All these little milestones are slowly falling by the wayside one by one on a relentless march back to where I once was before Mr. Lyme.
Onwards and upwards!
Hurricane Dorian is due to sideswipe us sometime tonight so I got out for a quick kayak to enjoy the calm before the storm on Newnans lake in Gainesville, Florida. You’d never know a violent storm was coming…