Lately I have been out in the world a little bit more. All day yesterday I was in Chicago – the trains are free all this weekend – did you know that? I didn’t until after I had bought my ticket! Anyway not to worry I can use it when I go up again on Wednesday. …..
The other day I was in a forum as a newly minted organic grain landowner and it was marvelous. Surrounded by like minded people. I felt that wonderful sense of awakening into knowledge and discussion and learning. A sense of balance as my selves merged and worked in harmony.
Inside a woman is many women. I can’t speak for men because I am not one but I know that inside me there are many kinds of me. Over the last few months I have seen how easily I can morph from the Primitive Woman who is all eyes and ears and bristling fur as she tends to her pack, silent and watchful and alert in the frigid tundra temperatures.
To Wild Woman who strides and speaks with confidence, taking on all thoughts and racing ahead with ideas, head up shoulders back, ready to run in or run out at a moments notice. But refusing to be tied down into box. Questing.
To Nurturing Woman who can hunker down creating warmth and feeding and creating seamless service, calling to her cubs on the way home, hands always busy. Nurturing Woman walks with Wild Woman I think.
To Touchy Bitchy Woman feeling blocked and sensible and beholden. Who looks for all the reasons why she is not good enough. All the reasons why she is better staying quiet and safe in her box. All the reasons why she can’t run with Wild Woman.
To Gone Woman so consumed with her work or her animals that she becomes one of them. And disappears.
To Girl Woman who looks with wonder and surprise at all the changes around her. Eyes too wide for the weather that lacerates her. Eyes blinking in shock when they are not closed and sleeping so as not to have to deal with it.
We are all many people.
I bet just reading my ( mostly) daily farm journal you have encountered words from each of these women who jostle about inside an ordinary head.
To look at a person and think you know them or even a little of what they are thinking and knowing is naive. There is so much to a person. So many pathways in our thoughts. So much to balance in our arms if we are to run sure footed on the earth.
We spend too much time with labels and pigeon holes and sticky notes trying to make sense of those around us. Trying to make sense of ourselves, searching for something we have forgotten the name of, when running through the snow in a broken jacket with my pack of pigs and dogs sniffing and watching over my patch of planet will shake more sense into me.
Sense – sensible.
I blame luggage. My wild woman wants to run without luggage. Carrying my golden warring precious badly behaved and sleepy selves in my hands rather than sensibly packed damned bloody bollocksy luggage.
My feet tingle and wriggle with the anticipation of travel. I am already almost away. Three more sleeps – all of them on my toes.
It is snowing – I hope not too much.