While I don’t miss the cold, ill-insulated house, it provided me with my own space, a fabulous wood stove, and these freak’n amazing morning sunrises…
It was a year (minus a day) after the head injury and 9.5 months before the mudslide –
that interesting in-between space when I had no idea that more dramatic life changes were coming my way.
That I’d be happy to still be alive and breathing — beaten up, yes, but here, alive still, by the choices I’d made.
Not to sleep on the bed that got blasted out the side wall of the house.
Not to sleep but to stay upright, awake, vigilant.
To move the millisecond I did, feeling like I’d been pushed into action by unseen hands (thank you, dear Angels), so that the log that pierced through the window where I’d been sitting rather than piercing through me.
We are always at choice.
In-between places continue all the time — I wonder what’s the in-between taking place in this moment that’ll be so apparent 9.5 months from now.
Fire-filled, magical, surreal, mystical sunrises of the Divine.
Stop, feel, breathe, and acknowledge just how crazy, delicious lucky we are to wake up, to take this first conscious in-breath every single morning…
As an acquaintance said (something to the effect of) not so many weeks ago, “So, I guess every damn day is just gravy for you.”
It is. I cherish every morning. Every single day. And, every single one of you in my life.