From where the water flows
April 18, 2012
Some say everything happens for a reason. Nothing is chance. It’s all meant to be.
I can’t say I’m convinced. I believe in free will. I believe in taking responsibility for my own actions, even if it is my actions that bring me to the wrong place at the wrong time. Which has been known to happen.
About as often as… I find myself in the right place at the right time.
Free will and free spirits.
Meeting friends, lovers, the family we choose to keep and create, in that perspective, is no more than coincidence. Two free spirits meeting with an instant recognition. Connection. Just like that. Or not, because sometimes it takes a while, you work at it, and your first impressions aren’t so great.
As adults we have the right to choose our family, don’t we? I have seen too well how damaging holding onto ties and obligations of a dissolving family can be when we blindly cling to what we’re born with. I’m not interested in living out of the pages of someone else’s story. I’d rather write my own.
Free choice. Sometimes we must choose to walk away. Open up your eyes and see! What will you choose?
So I walked. No, more than that. I drove. Alongside my husband in our well worn flat-bed pick-up truck towing a twenty-four foot horse trailer loaded down with three cats, a dog, a half a ton of horse tack and two ton or more of personal items we just couldn’t leave behind.
Fourteen hundred miles to Washington State to start anew, and get away from the burdens of yesterdays repeating themselves over and over like unwelcome rain tapping the roof when you’ve already got enough mud outside the front door.
It was only five months away and already we chose to… what should I say? Leave? Or return? We left there, returned here. Home. Our Colorado ranch. There’s business to take care of, obligations, responsibilities, commitments. And an oddly deep connection to the land.
Powerful is the draw. The attachment remains in silent dormancy in some secret place deep within.
The mountains are mightier than the people who claim them. Being away gives one a new perspective. I don’t need to own them. I just need to be there. And not sitting around staring, but out there, working with the land, a part of the elements. Wet when the rain falls and cold when the temperature drops which more often than not up here it does.
So begins a journey like the path of an untamed river.
A new twist in a old river. Happens all the time. All it takes is a log caught in the flow, and the course is redirected. Nothing stays the same. And the river never stands still for long.