|
In ancient
times, scribes were devotees of the Word. They were the
bridges between worlds, charged with the sacred task of
painstakingly transcribing the Mysteries into a form
that could be referenced by holy men and women. Many
centuries later, our modern journals give us unlimited
access to the Mysteries of our souls. Through this
column, I hope to offer ways that we can approach our
own lives with the love and devotion of the scribes of
old.
Journal of a Synchronicity
June 5, 2001
Today as I was rooting around in the
closet the "Time 2 Move" sweatshirt fell on my
head. It always gives me pause when it surfaces; for a
dozen years it has been the harbinger of change. It
disappears for years at a time and then shows up when I’m
ready for a major life event. I put it on and sat on the
edge of the bed, musing about the changes it has
foreshadowed.
I have wondered for a while if it is
"time 2 move" from this apartment where I’ve
lived happily and contentedly for a dozen years. Maybe I’m
finally ready to be a homeowner again.
June 10
Had brunch with M and L today. I
mentioned my restlessness and desire to buy a place.
Hearing myself say it out loud made it more tangible and
real. They were enthusiastic and supportive.
June 11
As I was tossing away my junk mail I
noticed a real estate ad with a townhouse listed by C,
who I saw at the high school reunion last summer. It
reminded me that I had spoken with her briefly a year
ago about the possibility of buying something. At the
time it seemed too overwhelming – prices just seemed
out of reach. Now, of course, they’re even higher.
Argh.
June 12
I drove by the townhouse and it’s in
a great location. Looks very much like the last place I
owned, which I loved. Called C to ask for a showing. It’s
under contract. She told me to get prequalified for a
loan. I discovered realtor.com, which lets me do my own
market research and gives addresses I can drive by. I
also filled out a loan application on line. The fact
that I’m self-employed apparently will make it more
difficult.
June 15
Have been consumed with looking at the
outsides of places and am rapidly educating myself on
what is and is not acceptable. There is some
unbelievable crap selling for ridiculous prices. One
townhouse has a master bedroom balcony that overlooks
railroad tracks no more than 20 feet away. I know these
tracks; six or eight freight trains a day go through.
Charming. Many townhouse complexes are built around
acres of asphalt parking lots. I looked at a place that
had beautiful grounds and a "detached" garage
– extremely detached, about 100 yards down a
significant hill. I can just imagine how much fun that
would be in the winter! Anything I buy would have to
have covered parking and trees. I can’t bear the
thought of living in the midst of an asphalt and
concrete jungle.
June 18
Leave for the women’s retreat
tomorrow. [Poetry therapy intern] J ran writing group
this afternoon. She closed with an ee cummings poem
which she recited from memory, the one about the leaping
greenly spirits of trees and a blue true dream of sky. I
love the way she recites, so compelling and dramatic. It
makes me want to drop everything and memorize poems.
June 22
Day of Silence at women’s retreat. I
am so in love with the trees here at Benet Pines. The
weather has been exquisite, a blue true dream of sky.
Found the ee cummings poem on the internet and broke
silence this evening by reading it into the circle.
i thank You God for most this amazing
day: for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky; and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes
(i who have died am alive again today,
and this is the sun's birthday; this is the birth
day of life and of love and wings: and of the gay
great happening illimitably earth)
how should tasting touching hearing seeing
breathing any — lifted from the no
of all nothing — human merely being
doubt unimaginable You?
(now the ears of my ears awake and
now the eyes of my eyes are opened)
--e.e. cummings
July 19
I find myself saying the cummings poem
over and over in my head. I wake up every morning and my
first conscious thought is i who have died am alive
again today. This poem is living in my body. I am
eating it. I know this process. Like the Time 2 Move
sweatshirt, this is a harbinger of change. Poetic magic
is afoot.
July 25
Looked at a darling townhouse in
perfect condition, but claustrophobically small and
woefully expensive. First time I’ve actually connected
with a realtor through this process. I’m the first one
to see this place. She assured me it will not be on the
market more than a week and encouraged me to act swiftly
if I want it. I told her I’m leaving town tomorrow and
am probably not a candidate. Not sure I could qualify
for a loan that size. Nor would want a mortgage payment
that high.
July 31
Back from teaching at the poetry
therapy intensive. I can’t shake the cummings poem. I’m
making it August’s Poem of the Month at
journaltherapy.com.
August 5
Woke up this morning with the cummings
poem in my head and the brilliant awareness that maybe I’m
looking in the wrong zip codes. Checked out the
neighborhoods a bit south, between where I am now and
the office, and sure enough, it looks like there’s a
significant difference.
August 6
Today I connected with a lawyer who is
selling his condo himself, and it is affordable, and it
has all the things I absolutely positively can't live
without – especially trees! Mature trees, gorgeous
trees, leaping greenly spirits of trees, old-growth
trees, beautiful grounds, a front porch, my own garden
area, covered parking, good location halfway between my
family and my office, possibility for community
with neighbors, quiet neighborhood, a good gym nearby,
across the street from Crown Hill Lake and the wetlands
preserve, a neighborhood grocer on the corner. And the
leaping greenly spirits of trees! Oh those trees ….
they call to me.
Walking through the breezeway into the
interior of the complex is like being transported to Oz.
It goes from a pleasant but utterly nondescript exterior
to a magical fairyland of forest-in-the-city. Flowers,
shrubs, trees, trees, trees.
August 7
Well, I have spent practically the
entire day bonding with my new condo, checking out the
leaping greenly spirits of trees and especially sneaking
peeks at the individual gardens. There are some
ferocious gardeners there -- the whole place has this
rampant, overgrown, fertile, fecund, wildly creative
feeling to it. There are hardwood trees mixed in
with the pines and aspen, so fall should be glorious. I
who have died am alive again today!
August 9
I bought it. Earnest money, contract,
loan approval, whole enchilada.
August 31
The closing is at noon today. I am a
homeowner! Thank you ee cummings for reaching out across
time and space to land in me a poem that guided me to my
own true home. It is Time 2 Move!
©
Kathleen Adams. All Rights Reserved
Kathleen Adams LPC, RPT is a
Registered Poetry/Journal Therapist and Director of The
Center for Journal Therapy in Lakewood, Colorado. She is
one of the leading voices on the power of writing to
heal and is the author of four books, including Journal
to the Self and The Write Way to Wellness.
Her upcoming seminars include the annual 5-day women’s
writing retreat in Colorado July 8-13, and a one-day
Journal to the Self workshop in Denver in late July. She
would love your feedback on this column; please e-mail kay@journaltherapy.com
or stop by her website, www.journaltherapy.com.
Read
Kathleen's Past "Scribing the Soul" Columns:
August
2001 "Rituals for Soulful Writing"
July
2001 "A
Baker’s Dozen Ways to Journal Your Dreams"
April
2001 "Journals to Go"
March
2001 "Healing Words, Healing Touch: Jihan's Letters"
February
2001 "Love Letters"
January
2001 "Scribing
the Authentic Self"
December
2000 "Riding the Inky Wave"
November
2000 "The Good News"
October
2000 "Soul Food: Exploring Affirmations in
Writing"
September
2000 "Diary of a Headache"
August
2000 "Making Up the Truth"
July
2000 "Pockets of Joy"
June
2000 "Five Ways to Scribe Your Intuition"
Read
Kathleen's Feature Article on Dream Journals:
Writing
in the Dark: Cracking the Soul's Code Through Dream
Journals
|
