Alone

So after close friends come and go you tend to reflect a little. Or a lot. Both Vee and Shantelle are the kind of friend folks who know me to the bare bone: They aren't afraid to dive in and call me on my shit and will always hustle up to save my ass from my own misgivings and hold my paw whilst I stumble through fears and idiocies on the way. Seriously. I have some hardcore GOOD pals. I must've mentioned them horseshoes I got stuck up my ass at some point in prior posts - To be honest they represent the fantastic people who rule my world. I have no clue how I hang on to 'em, just that my heart is over-filled with bursting love for those loving few and that I'm willing to do ANYTHING for them in return. Cause love is like an ocean.

I am going home soon. SOON. But as I won't be able to stay permanently I am already mourning before even getting there because I won't get back all that I used to have and now crave to have.
I miss having my own home, with my stuff out and about. I want to be in that special sacred space again, that personal canvas that is my own - It grows whenever I add a lick a paint. That place where my awesome sauce sound system, records, art, objects and kitchen rule the days and evenings, transforming reality in my own private world by giving me peace and a sense of belonging.

The sheer pleasure of a woodstove roaring again during cold nights; I want to go outside cursing the rain while chopping the firewood in my negligee; to plant, grow and revel in my own vegetable garden jungle filled with goodness all year round once again, calling slugs villainous names; and to hear crunching noises by my treasonous conspirator Crackhead, who has been my feline companion since I got to Canada over a decade ago. She's the mice/rat/squirrel/mink Killer and 'Pitbull Whisperer' (read: Torturer) who tolerates me as her human sidekick. I long to have that little flea vehicle purring at my side at night, indicating that while I fall asleep all is safe and good in the world.

I want to have it all back again, the freedom and privacy of one's own finger print. Once fellow island folks I loved knew it too and they dropped by without notification or warning, to revel in good times or to expose their heartaches, hashed out on the couch on the front porch, in that fragrant orchard on the bay with candles, incense and music.
Cheeky raccoons, stealing fruit and Crackhead the Cat showing her (unexpected) soft side by sniffing a fawn's nose in Spring time when the yard had an army of daffodils and Black-tailed Momma deer grazing the greenness of it all.
I have missed it all so incredibly much, and sometimes ask myself why did I leave? To loose is to gain an awful lot -  but was it worthwhile to leave behind all that for a journey that might not end as clearly as it started?

The children of the heart, growing up so fast. Will there be a chance to catch up with all that I have missed? Will it still be valuable and worthwhile.
Only a few weeks left, and so many questions and concerns are now trying to kick my pure joy and longing out of the limelight.
So I went a-walking, here in lonely Northern Ireland, the island where I don't know many a soul. The beaches here I do know well. Meeting the ocean, and all that loving I got inside of me for those who are the world to me was right there rushing in with the tide, at my feet. Ready.

Stepping stones

Beach treasure