Seattle Girl on Cape Cod: Living Like a Gypsy in These Unprecedented Times. We are RAMBLING ON!

Hello fellow EARTHLINGS,

How are you on this fine Friday night?

 I'm living like a gypsy in these unprecedented times. It wasn't planned. It's the cards I was dealt, but I couldn't have asked for a better hand.

 I think I may have made lemonade out of lemons. Somehow I'm living my dream life out here on Cape Cod, 

 I've always been a wanderer. I've lived an entire life of adventure.

"One day you will settle down." I've heard these words over and over again as each decade has passed, and yet I'm still on the road.

And I'm so grateful where I've landed.

I'm grateful that I have always been open to "whatever is next." Life is unpredictable with many twists and turns. I think it becomes a lot more enjoyable when I LET GO of the reigns or at least loosen up on them a bit and see where this life wants to take me. Of course I have my own intentions, dreams and ideas, but flexibility has been a key ingredient in navigating this thing called life. 

 I'm not sure I've always sought out the gypsy life, perhaps it's sought out me? I have always been open to it. When the pandemic hit, I was living at my parents' house in Sequim while they were snow birding down in Arizona. Eventually they returned in May, and I needed to find a place to go. I had been looking for a place to buy on the Olympic Peninsula and nothing panned out. I made offers on houses, but it wasn't in my cards.  I'm now 51, and I still don't have a house of my own. I could curse the universe for giving me a gypsy life, but I've decided to embrace it. 

Truth be told, one part of me longs for a cat and a home that is all my own, but a bigger part of me LOVES, absolutely loves the life I have.

You know what's funny, just as I'm loving this life in front of me, I have a strange feeling, a premonition if you will, that I WILL find that house and cat. I see myself sharing this lovely home with my boyfriend Scott. It always happens that way, doesn't it?  When you let go and open, what wants to come in usually does. 

 We thought we'd have to move out of this house at the end of November. The owner had winter renters and we couldn't stay past December 1st, so we thought.

But the house sold in September while we were in the house, so we were meant to be the last renters. All the winter renters on the books had to find something else.

Then the deal fell through. The house didn't sell.

 Now the owner was without renters for the winter, so we asked if we could stay through the spring. The owner agreed.

But it JUST SOLD AGAIN! The new owners close on April 20th. 

WE LOVE THIS HOUSE! 

But I don't know if we've loved it enough to buy it and it was out of our price range anyway. 

However, we had a very good run here. We got to stay in a HUGE house right by the beach from mid-September to April.

We've loved the short walk down the shell path to the glorious bay where we've watched dozens of sunsets, swum in the warm waters, collected shells and rocks, kayaked, star-gazed, moon-gazed, kissed.

 We've loved our home and cooking up a storm in the huge kitchen or sitting out on the back deck on a sunny day with appetizers and a cool drink or gazing at a meteor shower from the upper deck. 

We've enjoyed crock-pot soups on fall nights, and our first snow here and decorating for Christmas. We've loved movies in the sweet living room and eating fresh Wellfleet oysters from down the street. We've loved everything about this place. I've loved teaching my college classes upstairs in my office nook and Scott's loved his contracting job on the Lower Cape. He's loved coming home, showering, grabbing a bite to eat and then wandering down the path to the beach for sunset. It's so peaceful here. There's no light pollution. There are so many stars. Nature is wild. There are foxes, and coyotes, and wild turkeys and old graveyards with pilgrims from the Mayflower in them and fish shacks and beach knick knacks. 

And now it's time to go.

But we aren't ready to leave. 

WE AREN'T READY TO LEAVE! 

There, I said it. 

So I found another house 10 minutes away. It is equal in size and charm and close to a swimming pond and First Encounter Beach. It's got a deck and lots of rooms and it's near the bike path. I'm EXCITED about this new adventure down the street. Yes, new adventures can even happen DOWN THE STREET!!! I'll be sad to leave this house, but we stayed longer than we expected to.

And so this new chapter starts on April 1 and ends on June 19. Summer on the Cape is outrageous. Prices go up 10 times. We don't know where we will go come June. We don't know.

But we have from January 22-June 20th. We have at least 5 more months....at least! We've bought ourselves more time here. We want to feel the spring come around the bend. Watch the flowers bloom. Take a dip in the pond down the road from our new abode. Watch the sky get lighter and lighter as the days get longer and longer. We aren't done with this beach town yet.

A year on Cape Cod. 

Give me a year on Cape Cod so I can taste every season. I want to feel it all. This gypsy is hanging out for awhile here. The winds of change have only blown us down the street. The Nor-easter didn't even drive us out. 

We are here to stay for now. Yes, this gypsy is staying put....and loving EVERY SECOND of it.

Seattle Girl on Cape Cod: Nature Vs. Technology

"Look deep into nature and then you will understand everything better."—Albert Einstein

 Today the sun was high when I woke up at 8:30am. I ate a breakfast of oatmeal and coffee, threw a load of laundry in the washing machine, cleaned up a bit and got dressed. All I could think about was getting OUTSIDE. 

Getting outside here on Cape Cod is actually how I get INSIDE. It's my REAL communion with the world. 

Today the clouds were puffy and white. I wandered down the shell path to the beach steps. The water was calm and clear and the clouds were smattered across the sky as if Bob Ross himself had joyfully brushed them in to being like the 'happy little clouds' he is known for. 

As soon as I take note of Nature, it takes note of me. This has been my experience. I'm no longer separate from it. It's as if a door opens and I'm ushered in where millions of miracles are happening all at once, me being one of the miracles. 

Of course we've seen everything in Nature before. Nothing is new, right? 

We've seen stars, clouds, the sun, the moon, trees. We've felt soft sand between our toes, tasted the sweet nectar of Nature in an apple picked fresh from a tree. We've smelled roses and lilacs. We've heard the waves lap at the shore. We've experienced it all, so why is Nature still so mesmerizing? Why do we need it and want to be out in it?

I don't know about you, but I'm constantly informed by Nature. The more I open the door and step in, REALLY STEP IN, the more I come out with a truer sense of who I am. 

It's as if all of the molecules in my body begin to dance with the sounds, sights, tastes, touches and feelings of Nature. 

Nature is very much a sensual experience. In witnessing it, I witness myself. We aren't separate. I long for that connection more than anything. It calls to me each day.

If Nature is feeling, Technology is THINKING.

The imagery I see, hear, or feel through technology is NOT THE SAME as what I experience with nature. Nature is REAL and tangible. It's light and bright, even when it is dark. 

 What I experience through technology is cold and metallic. Lately, the imagery feels dark and fear-producing. Technology has been created by humans as a way to bring the world closer to us, but are we meant to see the world all at once on a man-made screen? Could, perhaps, what we are currently experiencing through technology be completely man-made?  Is this the future of how we will interact? Will we all be staring at boxes feeling emotions that are happening to us through the INTERNET? Will we lose our connection to MOTHER NATURE herself and use her only as a means to an end rather than a way of connecting deeply to everything. 

Well, these thoughts come as I sit down at my computer. After all, this is how most of us are communicating these days. I feel that cold sensation again. It creeps in and leaves me with a buzzing in my ears, a tightness in my jaw and head and a soreness in my neck and back. Just as soon as I sit down, I want to get up and put my feet in the sand out in the driveway of this beach house—anything to unplug from technology and touch back down deep into the Earth's soft folds.

In my dreams, Nature visits me. I feel I'm being guided by merely opening to her. She tells me to keep tuning in. She tells me to rise above the noise and chaos—that BEING is just as important as DOING, if not more so—particularly NOW.

And it's not only the clouds that stood out today. While the clouds were large and lofty and begged to be noticed, tiny shells and grains of golden sand at my feet held just as much magic in them. My shoes sank into those soft grains on the beach and with every step I took I imagined all the darkness that's been swirling around on the Earth through technology get washed out by the salty water of Cape Cod Bay. Mother Nature is so much wiser than anything humans have created or destroyed on on this planet. She has so much compassion and patience for us. She only asks us to take notice of her.

Seattle Girl on Cape Cod: Finding the Light

"Hope is being able to see that there is light despite all the darkness."—Desmund Tutu

Have you ever stared at patterns on your walls or ceiling, the patterns the sun makes early in the morning as the light streams through the windows? Or listened to the sound of the rain on the roof? Or heard and even felt the wind howling outside shaking the windows in their frames? That wind is so loud that you can feel the air in the bedroom charged with its energy.

All of this energy pulls me out from the warmth of my house, right out into the raw elements. 

 Down the the road from me, here in Eastham, is First Encounter Beach, where Pilgrims encountered Natives of this land for the first time. When I walk around this area, I feel that even though this land is very narrow in its width, its deep in its history and there's so much to learn from it. I'm not talking about learning from books, although I'm finding those to be interesting, but more from the land itself.

When Scott goes off to his carpentry job each morning after a breakfast together of coffee and oatmeal, I immediately pull on my rubber boots if it's low tide or I slip on my tennis shoes if the tide is a bit higher. If the tide is low, I can walk way out on the flats, much like walking on the moon, I imagine. I like the ripples in the sand that the waves leave behind. Today, I saw intricate lines in smooth sand that left vein-like features that appeared to be tree branches with long, deep roots. 

The patterns the water leaves in the sand are so alive. They are the earth's symbols and they are everywhere. The sand reminds me that whatever I see today, won't be there tomorrow. When the tides come in, all of it gets washed away. 

This morning, before getting out of bed,  I did the mistake of checking in on the news. And then checking Facebook. I saw comments by people who were so angry, unhappy, and divided. People were calling each other names and were fighting for 'their side,' saying the other was wrong or at fault. I feel so removed from it all out here. I'm not ignorant of what is going on. But what do I accomplish by fighting on the computer with others? Or insisting that I have all the answers. Truthfully, I'm less and less inclined to even check and see what's going on because there's so much going on RIGHT HERE and what goes on in the news feels a bit overwhelming, out of my control and even quite surreal. Sometimes I entertain the idea of disappearing for a year into the wild, away from the need to connect by phone or computer. I wonder what would happen after a year of being away with no news? Would people still be fighting about politics? Would there be more hatred in the world? Or would people find a way to really witness each other, really hear each other? Well, as the old adage goes, 'There's nothing new under the sun.' The sun has, in fact, seen it all. Maybe that's why it was such a strong teacher for me today.

Today everything was about LIGHT: sunlight through my windows, sun patterns on my wall, sun on the beach, sunlight on my face. A worker smoking a cigarette behind Cumberland Farms said, "Hey, What a beautiful day, isn't it? It feels like spring!" I love the directness of people here. There's no hesitation in them telling you how they feel. I couldn't have agreed more. It was gorgeous.

I must have walked 5 miles today around my hood. I walked from my home to Thurmpertown Beach and then down Thumpertown Road to Brackett Road where I visited the tiny North Eastham Post Office to check my post box for mail. Then I walked from Campground Road to Bay Road and back to the house.

 

Always, at the start of my walk, my mind rehashes thoughts about this or that. My mind goes from the past to the future in an instant. Eventually my mind settles comfortably in on now.

What's happening now?

Now I'm feeling my feet in my shoes. Now the blue sky against the green of the pines on Thumpertown Road is so vivid. Now a woman in a white jacket with a white-patterned hat with ear flaps just passed me on the other side of the road and waved. Now I see green grass poking through the pine-needled sides of the road. Is spring already on its way? Now a red cardinal just fluttered past me onto an oak branch. Now I must cross the street, are there any cars? Wow, it feels like a ghost town around here, I like it. Now the sun is beating on my face as I change direction. Now I close my eyes and feel the sun fill me up from head to toe. Now I move at a steady pace, my legs working without me needing to tell them to move. How miraculous this body is! How amazing this earth is!

These are my thoughts as I move into the now. And most of the time these thoughts fall away and all I feel are sensations. In those moments, I am connected to, not separate from, everything. 

And this is why I followed the light outside today. It's also why I've opened a window to feel the wind on my face or sat up on my upper balcony to watch a meteor shower. 

I won't stop doing this. In a world that currently feels out of control with humans in charge, the sun said, "Don't worry, we've seen this all before. Stay in the light."

Join me for a 5-week Intuitive Writing journey called Living a Life with Intention starting on January 21st. I'd love to see you there.

Reflections of 2020: Following Nature's Pulse

 

For me personally, when I tune into nature and let it be my teacher and guide, I find most of the answers I seek. Nature is highly intuitive, so it makes sense that my own intuition would be heightened in nature and my own personal vibration would be higher by merely tuning into my environment. Reflecting on 2020, I chose nature over news. Some may think this is crazy. How could I have possibly avoided the news?  It was everywhere. The truth is, I got it all without needing to watch it all. I was and am aware of what is going on. I found that when I watched news images, it put me in a place of fear and helplessness and I did not feel empowered. I chose to focus inward more and it helped me immensely during a time that was and is difficult for many. Instead of getting battered by the waves on the ocean, I chose to dive deep down where things were quiet. And not so surprisingly, I was able to help others during this tumultuous time from this place of balance and peace.

Instinctively, I chose to move away from Seattle in December 2019 and move to Sequim, Washington, to my parents' house. They were in Arizona for the winter and spring. This was a few months before the pandemic hit. I also arranged to teach online at my college for winter quarter without intellectually understanding that I'd be the first in my college department to be teaching a mostly online class several months before we'd all have to be online. Spring quarter, after the pandemic hit, I'd be asked to assist teachers in navigating online classes. I felt happy to serve in this way and to serve students from many different countries, some who found themselves alone in a country that was not theirs in the midst of a pandemic.

It wasn't a surprise that during this difficult time, I was surrounded by the incredible and nurturing beauty of Nature. I sensed what was coming and there were clear markers along the way and in my dreams that I've written about on this blog that perhaps prepared me in some way to be where I was.

There was a lot of work I was meant to do out there. I connected to the Native energy and frequently meditated, played my elk drum, met with other like-minded individuals online.

 On this blog in March, I wrote a Healing for the Earth series for one full month and guest healers/psychics also wrote posts. Down the street from my parents' house is Jamestown beach and the grave of Chief James Balch, a Native of the S'Klallam tribe. I frequently walked on that beach and played my elk drum down there by the Eagle Totem Pole. I made a medicine wheel on the beach made of shells and branches. Eagles frequently flew over me while I sat there on a log. Something unexplainable was happening. Healing on a level that I didn't fully understand with my limited human brain was taking place. I wasn't the only one doing this work. There were millions doing the work in both the physical and spiritual realms. There were people chanting, meditating and praying. Things were SHIFTING RAPIDLY. Many Earthlings were going through crises of all kinds. Some that I know are no longer on this Earth plane. Some worked the front lines in hospitals. Some barely made it through day to day living. I chose to hold steadfast to Nature. One morning I woke up and decided to hike the entire 11 miles of Dungeness Spit to the lighthouse. I got there at low tide mid-afternoon and did not return until the sun went down and the moon rose. I was the last soul on the beach that night and trekked through the last stretch of forest alone in the dark. I still remember the sea lion that emerged from the water at sunset, as if to say, "Hello!"

 There's a rhythm in nature that soothes me. There's a life force that follows an order so high that nothing can mimic or duplicate it. Through technology, humans have somehow lost touch with this pulse that has so much wisdom. Our ancestors knew of this wisdom. They understood the wind, the stars, the moons cycles. They knew how to find food and how to create shelter. They respected the land and even respected the animals they killed and ate. There was reverence for everything in Nature. Now, Nature is there to serve us, not teach us. 

In May 2020, my family returned to Sequim and I tried to move into my boyfriend's house in the city, but the city was too harsh for me with its traffic and noise and excess of human consumption. I think perhaps I'd gotten rather sensitive to being close to nature and it felt like quite an assault to the system to try to go back. So in June, I rented a cottage on Whidbey Island and in July I rented a tiny house in Port Townsend. I was back on the other side of the pond close to beaches and old growth forests. There, I continued to do the work I had done in Sequim. I swam in Discovery Bay and biked the Discovery Trail all the way to Port Angeles. I ate wild berries and picked wild flowers and sat outside in the grass staring at millions of stars. I communed with herons and eagles and hawks. The deer made frequent appearances. I wasn't off-grid, but I might as well have been. I continued to teach online through my college. My boyfriend would come on weekends from the city and he'd always feel so energized from the Nature in each place I stayed. Because I chose to live in smaller towns, I did not encounter as many people as I would in the city. I could hike freely sometimes without meeting a soul. This was a luxury, I realize now. 

As August was fast approaching, I knew I needed a change. I didn't want to settle into my boyfriend's place in the city AND his place was going to be torn down anyway to widen the road for, guess what??  MORE CARS! So we made a big decision. We decided to pack up his truck and I sold my car and we drove across country on September 2nd to Cape Cod, Massachusetts, his home town.

 We rented a house in the off-season on the Lower Cape. It's wild and more primitive out here. We are literally living on a sand bar with only 3 miles of land between the bay and the Atlantic Ocean. Nature is not to be messed with out here. This is where the pilgrims landed. This is where many shipwrecks have occurred. The wind and the waves ask you to move with them, not against them. I've seen the wind have its way with birds that lay dead on the shore. I've seen red foxes in my yard and sea turtles in the dunes. Recently a dead dolphin washed ashore on our beach. Most likely it was hunting fish and got caught in low tide. I've seen waves freeze from air so cold it bites right through your skin. I've experienced 70-mile-an-hour gusts of wind out here that shook my windows so strongly I was sure they'd break. I've also seen the ocean like glass, soft and welcoming even in early November, when I kicked off my sandals and sank into its smooth folds, letting it envelop me in its deliciousness. I've biked and walked and kayaked my way around this spit of sand. I don't have a car out here, so those are my modes of transportation, unless I drive my boyfriend to work in his truck so I can have the car for a day. He's working for his college friend as a carpenter out here. He repairs beach steps and builds decks and fixes trim for people with summer homes that are no longer here. I'm still teaching online for my college back in Washington. I feel blessed to be able to do that and be able to live in such a wild nature place. It's the best of both worlds.

For me 2020 has been all about Nature. I can't really sum up all that I've tuned into. From the ladybugs that are found crawling into the house to escape the cold to the sunsets that burn the sky red and orange to freezing waves and whipping winds. This place calls me outside constantly, no matter what the weather is doing. It calls me to tune more into IT and less into what is happening in the news on the BOXES THAT WE WATCH—TVs, computers, cell phones. That's not where my attention has been this year.  Maybe I've missed out? Maybe I don't know what's really going on?

But when I turn to Nature, I feel more informed than I ever have been. I feel at peace and at ease and I feel guided. I see signs and symbols everywhere and my intuition is strong. I wait for my next move like an eagle waiting high in a tree to swoop down and catch a fish. From up there, the view is WIDE. I'm able to sense and see more. I come from Nature after all, so it makes sense to me to follow Nature's pulse.

The Bridge Between the Earth Realm and the Spirit Realm is Nature

 When I step outside my door here on Cape Cod, I often feel a rapture or an ecstasy with the wild nature here. It invites me in, and, often times I lose track of time when I enter through nature's door. I become keenly aware and my senses are elevated. Today I felt I would meet a guide on my path. I felt it before I met it. And there he was. Standing on the beach steps I frequently use to go down to the sand. We locked eyes for a minute. I felt this gentle, wild animal inside myself. His eyes stared directly into my soul, his fast, little heartbeat met with the sound of mine inside my chest. I didn't want to move. I just wanted to stay there on the edge with him.

Foxes are known for walking in both the earth and spirit realms. They are signs to tune deeper into intuition and less into the noise of the material world. This fox stayed with me and then disappeared down the steps and over the rocks. The tide was high, so I turned back towards the sandy path and noticed crows on a wire screeching loudly. My intuition told me to look down. And there the fox was again coming straight towards me. He had walked over the rocks near the beach and met me back on the street. As he got closer to where I was standing, he turned and walked across the road right in front of me. What a magical creature!

He disappeared behind some trees and then came out again with his back towards me and then turned and stared right at me again before turning to leave. Why did he come back? What was his message?

Intuitively I knew why he was there. I knew. I have been feeling the pull of the material world and all the noise. I can get pulled into it, but I'm being called to step away from it and step more into my spirit. I'm being called to be like the fox, in the world but not of it.

And this might sound strange and a little out there, but I'm not going to make excuses for who I am anymore. If there's any time to BE WHO I AM, it's now. I often walk this bridge between earth and spirit. Nature is THAT bridge. I have a foot firmly in both realms. I have had dreams of going into the spirit realm and filling up with light and then coming back to earth again and repeating this over and over. I'm not the only one doing this. When I go into the spirit realm in my dreams, I see many more among me doing the same. They fill with light and then return. Again and again. I often think, "What am I DOING here?" I know I'm being guided by my higher self, but it doesn't always make sense on this plane of existence.

I've thought to go off radar for a bit so I can tune more inward, but there's an equal need to share this information, not hide it. The fox affirmed for me today that I was on the right path.

"Foxes have powerful spiritual energy that can give you deep insight into your own spiritual gifts, how to manage them, and what to look out for when protecting your own energetic space. Foxes are intricately linked to intuition, the psychic gift of claircognizance (clear knowing), and being aware of energetic boundaries. they can appear in your life to awaken these gifts within you or to encourage you to trust your inner voice." (crystalclearintuition.com)

I know what I am here to do, or more precisely, what I am here to BE. I'm a teacher, healer, light worker, psychic, mystic, shaman practitioner, documenter, writer, intuit and seeker. I am grounded on the Earth to help people connect completely to who they are which is connected to who we ALL are: beings of love and light. I'm here to be a conduit of light on the planet (every earthling is, whether they realize it or not). I'm here to tell you that the bridge between the earth realm and the spirit realm is nature. There are important messages and signs everywhere, but you won't find them in mass media or on the news. You will find ALL of the answers inside you. It's your choice.

Riding the Winds of Change

"Sometimes in the winds of change, we find our true direction."—Unknown

 For two days straight, the wind blew shaking the windows in their frames. The howling through the trees surrounding our house on Cape Cod kept me up at night. The entire atmosphere was charged with the energy this wind had created. Two nights ago, my partner lay next to me sleeping, and I lay on my back staring at the ceiling wide awake. I was calm and safe inside, but there were moments when I felt like the wind might just pick up this house and blow it over Cape Cod Bay out into the open sea. I wasn't afraid, I was awake. 

The howling, whipping wind felt appropriate for what is going on on the OUTSIDE, out there in the world. I feel the heavy energy of the world out on the periphery. I'm not close to it, being that I'm choosing to live here out on a sand bar in the ocean. The ocean has a way of softening the sharp edges. It cleanses and reshapes. It has a way of taking all that's solid and stuck and making it flow again. I couldn't think of a better place to be right now, honestly.  Nature speaks to me all the time out here. It's where I get my news these days. 

I haven't checked the election results. I have no idea who is president of our country. I'm choosing to linger in the unknown. It's the only place any of us can really be sure of anyway. What do we know? Looking to nature for the news this morning, like I usually do, the headline to match the experience was CALM AFTER THE STORM.

I woke up to sun streaming through all 6 large, bedroom windows. Our room sits up high in the tree tops on the second floor. I could see blue birds and finches happily fluttering about the tops of the trees singing their songs. My boyfriend was already downstairs brewing coffee and singing a tune. He called up to me, "Hey, wanna go for a walk on the beach?" I pulled on some jeans, a fleece sweatshirt, wool socks and headed downstairs. We drank coffee together and chatted, but he soon realized there wasn't time for a beach walk, he had to head out to work. He's been working with his college friend in his carpentry business for the last two months since we got here. It's one of the reasons we were able to move here for the off-season. My job at Edmonds College in Washington State went online after the pandemic hit, so I can work from anywhere. Scott was finishing up carpentry jobs in Washington, so he was in a good position to move. So, at the end of August, we packed up all of our worldly possessions, some went into a tiny storage unit, one for each of us, and the rest traveled across county with us in Scott's truck. I sold my car to come here. Being car-less has forced me to use my body to get around and to be creative. I walk or bike lots of places. Thankfully, we live near a beach and there is a 26-mile bike trail near our house that goes to several nearby towns. Scott has been loving working outside in Wellfleet, Eastham and Orleans on the Lower Cape. Most of the home owners are gone for the season, so they spend their time sanding and refinishing decks and siding, pulling up beach stairs, putting storm windows on houses and repairing this or that. He sometimes sends me pictures of where he is working: a gorgeous house right on the cliff of a beach or an artsy house hidden in the trees. It's really a dream come true for both of us to be here. The fact that Scott's 96-year-old mom lives in Sandwich and that his brother and cousin live out here, along with several friends, made it easy for us to come.

And our house, well it's also a dream. A dream that we are currently living in anyway. We found a longterm rental in Eastham, near the beach that normally goes for $12,000 a month in the high season. We got it for 10 times less in the off-season. It was cheaper for us to come here than rent in Seattle. Our house is big for the two of us. But after living in tiny, one-room basement dwellings together, it is so nice to have all the space. We have not one, but three bathrooms. We are loving every minute of being here. I love the ocean being so close. I love that I am living on a sand bar with wild nature all around.

So Scott headed off to work and I wandered down the seashell path from our house to the beach.

 All the beach stairs along our private beach have been hoisted up for the season. The windows on the houses facing the bay have been boarded up and storm-proofed. I have to walk the wooden stairs halfway down to a rock landing and then scramble down over boulders the rest of the way to the beach.

 I can't believe that on October 22nd, I launched myself off one of those boulders into the warm bay waters where I lay on my back for what seemed like an hour, letting the buoyant salt water hold me up. Now, a chill was in the air and I donned a long, lightweight down jacket. The sun was bright in the sky and and the waning full moon was still out. I stumbled down onto the gold sand. The water had soft ripples, but otherwise was flat and calm. I walked down on the sand. The tide was coming in. By 1pm, it would be up to the beach steps. The calm in the air was so gentle. The seagulls sat motionless on the beach and little sand pipers were actively eating bugs and algae by a patch of beach grass. A rippled sand bar stretched out for a mile. I walked out on it mesmerized by the intricate, grooved pattern in the sand. How these patterns form and then are washed away was symbolic to me. The sand glistened in the warm sun and little gold specks popped out. I picked up a handful of these tiny grains and let them sift through my fingers. So small, these grains of sand are, that make up the beauty of the the beach. The wild ocean and winds were always molding, shaping and changing the environment. Who knows, really, if this little sand bar known as Cape Cod would be here in the future? Well, it's here now. And I am here now.

Somehow I was able to ride the wind out and enjoy the calm after the storm. Our house is still standing and there wasn't any devastation. I knew that if I went INSIDE, deep within myself, I'd be just fine. I didn't need to get pulled into its fury or curse its sound. I could listen to it objectively, knowing that it wouldn't last forever. None of this is forever. And that, somehow brought me great peace and allowed me to step out into the calmness of the day today, fully present and fully alive. What a gift it is to be here now.

Leaving: Learning to Live in the Flow of Life

 

Well, it's August 28th almost. 2 months before my 51st birthday. What a year 2020 has been. I can't say it's been terrible. I started this year in Sequim on the Olympic Peninsula and now I'm back in Sequim saying goodbye to my family and this land. 

The pandemic hit while I was out in one of the most beautiful places in Washington. Sequim boasts a gorgeous spit and seaside, Dungeness crab, the nearby Olympic mountains and it's home of the lavender festival. The flat roads make it an excellent place to bike ride and nature here in unbeatable.

Eagles, hawks, coyotes, deer and elk are prevalent. In the winter I had the pleasure of watching trumpeter swans circle above a field of snow before landing gracefully upon it. I saw an eagle so close I thought it might land on me and deer curled up outside my window at night. While I was in this Shangri-la for 5 months, nature sheltered me from feeling isolated during the pandemic. I was so absorbed and protected by nature that rather than feeling scared and alone, I felt expansive and connected. 

Somehow all of that prepared me to LEAVE a place you'd never want to to leave.

Who in their right mind would leave here, I wondered. 

For months I tried to find property to buy out here and even put in a few offers, but everything always fell through. Sometimes I'd get so frustrated and wonder, why can't I find any place to live out here?

And I'd try to force the missing puzzle piece into a space that was clearly not meant for it. Have you ever tried to wedge a puzzle piece in the wrong spot. You want it to fit, but it simply doesn't, so you need to then let go.

But wow! Leaving and letting go is hard. 

I don't know how I got to this point of leaving. All I know is that all signs pointed EAST. And it seemed strange and peculiar to me. Why go east? Well, for one, Scott's 96-year-old mother is there AND his friend who owns a carpentry business on the Cape needs help while he undergoes carpal tunnel surgery, so there were some factors. But there's something more than that. Something I may never know until I get there.

You have to leave the city of your comfort and go into the wilderness of your intuition. What you'll discover will be wonderful. What you'll discover is yourself.—Alan Alda 

 Leaving a place of comfort is scary, especially when it is so beautiful. Yet my intuition tells me to go. Whenever I've followed my intuition, I've always been led to exactly the right place at the right time. I know it's where I need to be. I can't tell you why. 

In the wilderness of my intuition there is no right or wrong. There's just what's right for each one of us. I prefer to dwell in this space because I find I to be very rich. It's an endless fountain of new information that unfolds and I'm open to it. I call this FLOW and I'm excited to let you know that I'll be teaching an intuitive writing  class for 5 weeks starting on Monday, October 5th called From Fear to Flow. The class will be from 5-7pm Pacific Standard Time. You can read more about it and sign up here: https://mailchi.mp/a6a9804cf8c3/tools-for-our-times-from-fear-to-flow-intuitive-writing-course-offered-by-author-katherine-jenkins-and-seattle-psychic-institute

My intuition told me to check myself into a hotel room for a few days while my boyfriend sifts through all his belongings. I don't do well in complete chaos, so I felt called to come out here and say goodbye to the land and my family.

The flow is calling me to go and I can't know what I'm leaving behind as I step through this door. I can tell you that when all systems say "Go!" staying is not an option, at least in my experience. When I move against the flow of things, or against what my intuition is telling me, I find that I become stagnant or stuck.

I can't tell you this time has been easy. In fact, trying to pack up and leave this place has been downright HARD. I returned to complete chaos at my boyfriend's home. I could not fathom how we would leave on the day we planned to. There were boxes and clothes and tools and piles of junk everywhere. Some of it was mine, but most of it was Scott's. It challenged our relationship because I don't do well in chaos, yet here I found myself in one of the most challenging states of being for me and I was putting one foot in front of the other. We were working together and helping each other, albeit, in a crazy, unorganized kind of way. I can't say we didn't yell at each other. IT WAS INTENSE. But we both continued to move forward because somehow we both believed that whatever was on the other side of that door was worth it. We both believed in it. At one point, we realized that we'd have to let go of things. That the car carrier Scott paid for would not work on the car. Scott became more ruthless than I'd ever seen him. He let go of so much. A trip to the dump without giving a second thought to things that would normally seem important was evidence of that. It was his choice. 

A friend called in the middle of all of this and I texted her back telling her I couldn't talk. She said, "Oh, you are in the bottleneck part of things." That was an understatement. I felt like I was back in the birth canal. I wanted out. I was in fight or flight mode big time. I felt like throwing in the towel. To leave was just too much. Scott was going through his own inner stuff. He would get side tracked or fixated on something and forget what he was doing. He began to punish himself or feel bad about not having it more together. But a day before we left, we both realized, SHIT, WE MADE IT THROUGH THE DAMN BOTTLENECK!!!! Whatever we both went through, we made it through and are better for it.

Now, you may think moving is no big deal, but try leaving your friends and family and everything you've come to know. Try leaving all the security that is in place for you—things you lean on and expect to be there. Leaving all of that for some UNKNOWN life, with a few "sort of" solid things in place, like a rental for three months and jobs that are a little shaky, but still there, was challenging! Add to the fact that the world is in a crazy unknown state as it is, this move seemed insane.

BUT it wasn't all about us. I know it may sound cheesy, but something bigger was calling us to go. And being that we've both done a lot of inner work, when that info comes down the pike, you go with it. 

And I knew it was right when we shot out of that bottleneck onto the open road. I knew in every cell of my being that every single thing we went through to get to this place was right. As we headed out towards Eastern Washington, there was a slight haze in the sky. It felt like there had been some fires. The skies were blue, but there was something, another challenge, about to befall the West Coast. It literally felt like fires were on our backs as we drove East. 

And there was rain all the way from Billings, Montana to Camden, New York. RAIN on the plains. It was unusual. When we woke up in our Airbnb in Upstate NY, the skies cleared. It was a perfect early fall day and we drove easily and happily through the Berkshires. We stopped at a rest stop and got fresh fruits and veggies from an Amish woman selling her goods from her farm. We stopped by U-Mass, Scott's alma mater, and finally we arrived out on the strip of sand known as Cape Cod, with thousands of stars above us and the ocean breeze and smell of salt water all around us. 

We soon discovered we were lost, even though everything pointed to the fact that we were home. 

We parked and fumbled around in the dark, stumbling down sandy paths looking for our home. Dozens of cottages were tucked in the trees, but we couldn't find our place. Scott took charge and called his friend who lives on the Cape. His friend said, "Try Google Maps, sometimes another GPS gets you there." That was the ticket.

Before long, we were in our three-story home with THREE bathrooms (after living in tiny homes and spaces with Scott, this was HUGE!) It was gorgeous. We went up to the top level where there is a look out deck and listened to crickets and stared at the Milky Way! We arrived on 9-11, but it was not an emergency. We were giving a new name to this date. It was a beginning. A time to face fear head on and enter FLOW. We are in that flow now. It's the reward of moving through something challenging. I have guilty feelings for all the bliss I've been feeling since I got here (more on that in the next post), but I can tell you with all certainty, that I'm appreciating every single second. In the end, we only have all the seconds of our lives that make up this one. Every second is an opportunity to move with the flow of life, even if it is hard at times. 

Much love to all of you,

Katherine