I quit my job, caught a plane and now I am in a comfortable chair flying through the air over Lake Superior. A friendly stewardess had left me with a delicious BLT sandwich and a rum and coke with lime, both of which I finished while looking out the window at the Canadian scenery that slowly drifted out of sight below me. By the time I finished eating, beautiful fluffy clouds occupied all the available viewing space.
Yes, the gentle people at the healing place have contacted me with permission to come and live with them for as long as I need to. I have enough money to stay with them for a couple months at which time I hope to have found a new place to live and a new job. I am willing to settle my life anywhere that will work.
They wrote me that when I get there I will be able to choose from a variety of available bedrooms and that I can try each one out until I find the bedroom that I feel the most comfortable in. The diversity of available bedrooms is pretty impressive. I could live in a yurt, a greenhouse, a camper, a bedroom in the main house, a tree house, a cob house or a tiny cabin. I could even camp in a nylon tent if I wanted to, but I won't want to because it is January right now and I think I would like to be warm.
Not knowing what some of those things are, I looked up the more mysterious of them on the internet.
A yurt is a round room inspired by wandering Mongolian yak or sheep herders. What makes a room like this good for wandering livestock minders is that it can be completely dismantled, rolled up, carried to the next camping area and set up again. They are warm and cosy in even the coldest of weather.
A cob house is build by the hands of many people out of clay mud and straw. It is usually rounded and smooth edged with many whimsical personal touches put in by the group of people who built it.
All the bedrooms they offer are fully furnished, though rough in lifestyle. There should be room in any of them for me to unpack and arrange my remaining belongings. It feels liberating to me that I don't own very much anymore.
Today all of my belongings are travelling with me. Everything fits in my luggage: the large suitcase which is down with the checked baggage, and my carry-on bag which is in the cabinet above my head, and in my purse which is on my lap underneath this notebook that I am presently writing in.
I love this notebook, by the way, I choose a new one every half year or so because it takes me about a half year to fill it. I choose the next one right after I start using the newest one. It's important to me that these little books I use feel right, smell right and look good. I try to fill three pages each morning, though I cannot do it every day, and I also write in it when there is something in my mind that I need to work through. I find the notebook to be a real help to me.
Looking out the window I noticed that the clouds had been obscured by total darkness, I drifted off to sleep.
Saturday, 26 December 2015
Thursday, 24 December 2015
Chapter 2
While I anxiously await word, I find myself reflecting on what led me to this, why I want to go all the way to Vancouver Island to stay with some strangers who claim to be gentle, and why I am willing pay as much as I can for this experience.
I grew up in the country side of Ontario.
There was a lot of wide open spaces around the old farmhouse where we lived. All of the fields and forest surrounding our home belonged to a couple of farmers who had sold the lots along the road to people like my parents, and though I believe my parents bought the original farmhouse that went with all the land, the other plots were sold to developers who slowly turned the rustic countryside I played in as a child into the suburb I moved away from as a young woman.
To me, wide open country side is what normal looks like.
Dark and starry nights unlit by street lamps.
A seldom used lane-way I could ride my bike down and practise tricks without risk of getting hit by speeding cars.
A forest at the far end of a couple large fields through which I could walk and explore in the summer and cross country ski in the winter.
A creek I could wade in and explore.
A secret, hidden spring where I could find a mid afternoon refreshing sip of water.
A giant old pear tree over run by wild grape vines...in late summer I could spend all day in that tree and have plenty of food to snack on!
Yes, that is what a perfect life felt like to me, so when as a 17 year old I moved with my boyfriend to the city to work in a shop while he worked in a bar, I slowly began to lose myself. At night, after my shop closed, I would go over to his bar and hang out with him and our friends, drinking, dancing and playing pool, night after night after night. By the time I was 25, the boyfriend was long gone and so was my peace.
My parents had sold the old homestead in a failed attempt to pay off some of their bills. Now they lived near Toronto with my older brother. There was no way I could get back to my old home. I would have to find somewhere else.
I kept my job in the clothing store for a while after we broke up, but I was falling deeper and deeper into a state of depression. It was becoming almost impossible to show up for my shifts at work, I couldn't handle the least bit of conflict, I would just panic.
I think I just missed my childhood, the country side.
My boyfriend had kept our apartment and I was staying on the couch of various friends until I could work out something more permanent for myself. Before I moved out of the place he and I had shared for so long, I had given or sold most of my belongings so that I would not have too much to move around with me while I couch surfed between generous friends.
I wanted to take up less space.
I wanted to not impose on anyone, ever.
I tried to not eat so that I would be no imposition.
I was getting weaker and weaker and smaller and smaller.
One night, like many others, I couldn't sleep.
While my host peacefully slept in her bedroom, her soft snores echoing to my ears, I was settled back in her lazyboy recliner, surfing the internet.
I was looking for a place to go, a place to interact with the natural world again.
A place to find myself back.
A place to reconnect, re ground, re identify who I am and where I fit in the world.
And I found this place. The Healing Place.
I have never been to Vancouver Island, but I have watched a lot of movies and TV shows that were filmed in that general area: BC, Oregon and Washington. X-Files, Twin Peaks, Twilight, Fringe, Motive, Supernatural, The Beachcombers and Kingdom Hospital, just to name the few that immediately pop into my head. These movies and shows promised me a place of lush and magical beauty.
As a result of having very low expenses, my savings account had become a nice size.
Even with my growing depression, the shifts I was able to work paired with the money gained from the belongings I had sold, left me with a comfortable amount of money.
I could afford this.
I could afford to fly first class to Vancouver Island.
I could afford to pay the maximum rate for my time at this healing place.
I was not a victim, I just needed someone gentle to open their rustic home to me so that I could find myself again.
I grew up in the country side of Ontario.
There was a lot of wide open spaces around the old farmhouse where we lived. All of the fields and forest surrounding our home belonged to a couple of farmers who had sold the lots along the road to people like my parents, and though I believe my parents bought the original farmhouse that went with all the land, the other plots were sold to developers who slowly turned the rustic countryside I played in as a child into the suburb I moved away from as a young woman.
To me, wide open country side is what normal looks like.
Dark and starry nights unlit by street lamps.
A seldom used lane-way I could ride my bike down and practise tricks without risk of getting hit by speeding cars.
A forest at the far end of a couple large fields through which I could walk and explore in the summer and cross country ski in the winter.
A creek I could wade in and explore.
A secret, hidden spring where I could find a mid afternoon refreshing sip of water.
A giant old pear tree over run by wild grape vines...in late summer I could spend all day in that tree and have plenty of food to snack on!
Yes, that is what a perfect life felt like to me, so when as a 17 year old I moved with my boyfriend to the city to work in a shop while he worked in a bar, I slowly began to lose myself. At night, after my shop closed, I would go over to his bar and hang out with him and our friends, drinking, dancing and playing pool, night after night after night. By the time I was 25, the boyfriend was long gone and so was my peace.
My parents had sold the old homestead in a failed attempt to pay off some of their bills. Now they lived near Toronto with my older brother. There was no way I could get back to my old home. I would have to find somewhere else.
I kept my job in the clothing store for a while after we broke up, but I was falling deeper and deeper into a state of depression. It was becoming almost impossible to show up for my shifts at work, I couldn't handle the least bit of conflict, I would just panic.
I think I just missed my childhood, the country side.
My boyfriend had kept our apartment and I was staying on the couch of various friends until I could work out something more permanent for myself. Before I moved out of the place he and I had shared for so long, I had given or sold most of my belongings so that I would not have too much to move around with me while I couch surfed between generous friends.
I wanted to take up less space.
I wanted to not impose on anyone, ever.
I tried to not eat so that I would be no imposition.
I was getting weaker and weaker and smaller and smaller.
One night, like many others, I couldn't sleep.
While my host peacefully slept in her bedroom, her soft snores echoing to my ears, I was settled back in her lazyboy recliner, surfing the internet.
I was looking for a place to go, a place to interact with the natural world again.
A place to find myself back.
A place to reconnect, re ground, re identify who I am and where I fit in the world.
And I found this place. The Healing Place.
I have never been to Vancouver Island, but I have watched a lot of movies and TV shows that were filmed in that general area: BC, Oregon and Washington. X-Files, Twin Peaks, Twilight, Fringe, Motive, Supernatural, The Beachcombers and Kingdom Hospital, just to name the few that immediately pop into my head. These movies and shows promised me a place of lush and magical beauty.
As a result of having very low expenses, my savings account had become a nice size.
Even with my growing depression, the shifts I was able to work paired with the money gained from the belongings I had sold, left me with a comfortable amount of money.
I could afford this.
I could afford to fly first class to Vancouver Island.
I could afford to pay the maximum rate for my time at this healing place.
I was not a victim, I just needed someone gentle to open their rustic home to me so that I could find myself again.
Chapter 1
There is a place I've heard of that is located on Vancouver Island in Canada.
It is a place where someone like me could go, stay for a while, get away from my problems, get close to the earth, interact with gentle people and somehow prepare myself to return to my world and handle my issues a little better.
I really want to get there and get away from here.
They say it doesn't matter what time of year you go there, it is always beautiful. And wet.
January = Slush and rain
February = Rain
March = Rain
April = Rain
May = Rain
June = Drought
July = Drought
August = Drought
September = Drought
October = Rain
November = Rain
December = Slush and rain
They say that temperature rarely dips too far below freezing, nor too high above sweltering.
Mosses, moulds and mushrooms grow everywhere and on everything.
It sounds good to me, and there is an ocean nearby too, as well as a few breathtaking old growth forests to walk near and meditate in.
The deal is, if I can afford it, they would like me to pay $1,000 per week to live and eat there, they do not disclose their secret location and so they will pick me up from the Nanaimo airport or ferry terminal and drive me to their peaceful place of healing. The thing is, if I cannot afford the thousand dollars, they will accept anything that I can pay, all the way down to nothing at all, if I meet their criteria.
On their webpage there is a personal questionnaire that I have filled out. I answered questions about who I am, what is going on in my life that I need a place of restoration to cower in for a while, what I hope to gain from living with them, how long do I think I need to stay, what are my physical strengths and limitations, and what my plan for recovery is, if I have one. Once they have phoned my references and discussed my answers among themselves, they will let me know if I am welcome to come.
I am on the edge of my seat waiting to find out if I can come.
It is a place where someone like me could go, stay for a while, get away from my problems, get close to the earth, interact with gentle people and somehow prepare myself to return to my world and handle my issues a little better.
I really want to get there and get away from here.
They say it doesn't matter what time of year you go there, it is always beautiful. And wet.
January = Slush and rain
February = Rain
March = Rain
April = Rain
May = Rain
June = Drought
July = Drought
August = Drought
September = Drought
October = Rain
November = Rain
December = Slush and rain
They say that temperature rarely dips too far below freezing, nor too high above sweltering.
Mosses, moulds and mushrooms grow everywhere and on everything.
It sounds good to me, and there is an ocean nearby too, as well as a few breathtaking old growth forests to walk near and meditate in.
The deal is, if I can afford it, they would like me to pay $1,000 per week to live and eat there, they do not disclose their secret location and so they will pick me up from the Nanaimo airport or ferry terminal and drive me to their peaceful place of healing. The thing is, if I cannot afford the thousand dollars, they will accept anything that I can pay, all the way down to nothing at all, if I meet their criteria.
On their webpage there is a personal questionnaire that I have filled out. I answered questions about who I am, what is going on in my life that I need a place of restoration to cower in for a while, what I hope to gain from living with them, how long do I think I need to stay, what are my physical strengths and limitations, and what my plan for recovery is, if I have one. Once they have phoned my references and discussed my answers among themselves, they will let me know if I am welcome to come.
I am on the edge of my seat waiting to find out if I can come.
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