i’ll leave the light on and the key under the doormat

Comanche National Grasslands, USA

For a good many years now — and use of the term “good” could be debated — I have known myself to be a highly sensitive, empathic individual.

I have wept not only for myself, but for the world.

I have, within the confines of my own body and my own soul, carried, expressed, released and healed, the fears, wounds, and distress of group consciousness. When a friend (whose spiritual proclivities are aligned with a strict Biblical approach) looked at me in amazement and asked, Why would anyone possibly want to do that?, I told her simply that it was what I do and was neither to be praised nor damned.

I admit that I often wished the assignment might have come with a paycheck, but perhaps my paperwork got hung up in the, ahem, Human Resources Department.

There are others out there, many in fact, whose pathways have run parallel to mine. They carry a number of different labels, are vulnerable to an assortment of judgments, and, I am inclined to surmise, are now having an experience akin to my own.

Some will quickly understand what I am about to say, and others never will:

I am done with that and I am now reclaiming the life that I remember having long ago – though I can’t identify exactly when or where or how or why I lost the thread along the way. In fact, knowing no longer matters much.

My ability to see deeply into the hearts of others was factored in. Ditto the relative lack of functional models of healthy attachment with other humans, and a sense of alienation that hovered around my edges for most of my life, even as I moved in the outer world with an air of confidence and a basket overflowing with high-functioning skills and talents.

And now, I just want to have a life.

I have planted my roots in an unlikely yet eminently hospitable place for what I need, and I feel the contentment it brings.

I am about to own my home for the first time in decades, amid a wafting of grace laced with excrutiating patience and deeply sought grounding. For weeks, I have been clearing other people’s dead wood in my yard, and of course, have excavated my own, and the beauty of the bare canvas that is emerging enthralls and elates me. Not one single metaphor escapes notice.

Now I will visit Home Depot ( a mere 150 miles away) and pick out a sledge hammer and a pitchfork and a power drill of my very own and sip from the Holy Grail as it is offered. Questions have been asked; answers received.

Chances are I won’t be posting here for some while (or even longer) – and perhaps not even in this format. Check back now and then; there may be surprises in the offing. Subscribers will still be notified when something new appears.

While cyberspace has afforded me the opportunity to meet some truly wonderful people (like you, perhaps?), I would much prefer to meet you in person, in a proximity that enables us to share our music, our art, our words and our songs — as well as a heartbeat, a wink, a nod, knowing smiles and, of course, a well-placed kiss or two.

For now, I would rather swim awash in paint color samples and ponder life’s profound questions, including “Will these 100-year-old floor joists support an old claw-foot bathtub?”, “Is this 300-mile round trip to the Habitat for Humanity ReStore truly necessary?”, and of course, “How did I ever end up with 4,000 used books in my garage — and what if I want to pull the Jeep in during a hailstorm?”

I hope I have not disappointed those of you who signed up only recently to receive my new posts. There is much here, so feel free to explore. While a great deal of what I have written now bears the aroma of antiquity for me, it may feel new and fresh to you.

Feel free to comment still, or to email me via the Contact Me Now button (way down in the right-hand sidebar), though don’t feel slighted if you don’t receive a prompt, personal response. Words (even mine!) cannot express how profoundly I have been touched by your interest, comments, and wholehearted embrace of my creative work.

If you have inklings of wanting to visit the remote, rural American Southwest in all its dry, dusty, and drought-stricken grasslands grandeur, pull on your boots, drop me a line, and get on down the road!

Remember the lines from the classic movie, Field of Dreams? “Is this Heaven? No, this is Iowa.” Well, I’m not in Iowa, but in my own way, I have most definitely forged my singular version of Heaven on Earth.

Know that, with courage of the heart and deep listenings to the stirrings of  your spirit, you can do the same.  Just let your Heart be your guide, Faith be your guidepost, and Love be your faithful companion.

Be Well, Be Whole,

Rachel

13 comments

  1. Thank you for your insights and inspirations that always speak to me and lift my thoughts. I wish you many blessings and although we have never met I feel your warm spirit! beautiful things await you!

    Like

  2. Leslie

    “Just let your Heart be your guide, Faith be your guidepost, and Love be your faithful companion.” YES!!!! YES!!!! Dear Rachel……..my Heart of Hearts. btw…..I am soooo
    in love with That…face to Face :) XOXO

    Like

  3. Janet

    I am so happy for you my sweet and profound friend. I know how much waiting and hoping this is the culmination of. So I sound a hearty yee-haa, and raise my glass to you. Your intentions and your grace, while tested, never waffled, never failed.

    Live this new chapter as you have the others and encouraged us to do the same: from the fullest depth and breadth of yourself.

    A thank you seems not enough, but it is sincere and it is my small gift. I hope to see your new place one day.

    Love!

    Like

  4. “Good onya'” Rachel – I know exactly what you are talking about and have done the same here in Oz w/ my family ;-) It’s good , always timely work and you can get it by choosing the heart path as you say … blessings and love, j

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  5. Fare thee well, Rachel. I’m currently in a “time-out” mode, but not to the extent you are undertaking. May you find many fabulous surprises in your seeking. Look forward to the odd update that you may feel like posting. Take care, Gentle Soul.

    Like

  6. Rachel, thank you very much for all the lovely poems and insights you’ve shared. They’ve enriched my understanding of life/existence. Wish you enjoyment and contentment in your ‘time-out’ phase. Look forward to any new offering in the future but, in the meantime, you’ll be missed.

    Like

  7. tekia

    You must be excited! I will be a lot of work but it will be worth it once the house is to your liking. That’s what I’m looking forward to is owning my own home one day. Congrats to you!!!! I will of course be checking back :-) Blessings!

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  8. To All,

    To come back and re-read your thoughtful, sweet, and uplifting Comments is a breath of fresh air.

    Kind of like attending your own wake while you’re still alive!

    What a wonderful band of spirited beings you are. People like you give a good name to the Internet and to the future of our species.

    Don’t count me out yet. Who knows what is waiting ’round the corner?

    Like

    • Busted! Yep — and you are clearly the hipster who did as well. Found your words in my old yearbook, but the reference to “The Girls of Kentland Song” threw me. I don’t remember the lyrics: did I write them? (:

      Like

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