It's a Tori Amos kind of day

I don't listen to Tori Amos that much these days. She seemed to be what I needed when I was an angst-ridden teenager. (Yeah, remember those days?) But, every so often, she's exactly what I need - a good dose of melancholy mixed with a bit of anger and some good sensuality thrown in. I reached for her today and, by God, belted out every word as I crawled along the highway, stuck behind yet another person who doesn't understand that 40 MPH is the MINIMUM speed limit, not the maximum.

I think I'm coming to understand what it means to feel depressed. It's not something to be afraid of. It's something to sink into. Like a bitter melon or a pungent tonic. Just cringe and toss it back. Admittedly, it does feel like blackness constantly hovering over me and, periodically, leaning into me with its weight. Thank God (or Goddess) that I have writing to lift me out of what feels like an emptiness so complete, I realize I'm not really breathing. I think we all go through times like this where what's been for so long no longer fits. It's like trying to stuff ourselves into clothes we once wore and loved but are too damn small and maybe a little faded and frayed. And so change is necessary yet sometimes the most frightening thing.

I've spent so much time creating this little life for myself. I built my own house pretty much from the ground-up. Lived without electricity or a phone or a fridge for more than a year. Closer to two. I've planted hundreds of trees. I've established my own business. I have two dogs who are adorable. I've worked tirelessly to establish myself as this independent, self-sustaining, strong woman who can do it all and off-the-grid, no less. And that's great. I'm proud of myself. And, at the end of the day, this loneliness and darkness hits me so hard, it's as if I can see nothing else. Not the brilliance of the stars or the red glow of lava pouring new earth onto this little piece of the planet, not anything but black. And somehow, here in the dark, I realize (I think it's my Higher Self) that I'm in this process of re-defining who I am. It's like being in a cocoon. I have to go through this dark tunnel right now. It's part of a woman's journey; the hero or heroine's journey as it's often called. For so long I've identified myself as the quintessential Amazonian woman and now, it's a damn poor fit because it's left me alone on 3.5 acres of land wondering "what in the hell am I doing here?" I realize I've walked myself every step of the way and now, it's time to walk myself in a different direction.

My mind so wants to ask the endless questions: But where will you go? What will you do? You've established all of this here...what else could there possibly be? You live in Hawai'i, for God's sake, where so many people would just die to live! And on and on and on. It's all fear based. And it's also based on the fact that part of me is clinging to an old identity because, without that, who am I? Who are any of us if we are not defined by our work, our friends, where we live, if we are parents, etc. etc. Who are we without any of these labels? Who am I? Who are you?

Yesterday, after one of my more difficult mornings and afternoons, I decided to go for a bike ride. On my return home, I visited this small gravesite by the ocean. I sat down on one of the graves - it happened to be one of an infant who only lived for a day. To either side of him were his grandparents. Somehow, the understanding that I am going to die at some point lifted my spirits and not in the sense that you're thinking. I mean, the understanding I felt sitting there gave me permission to live it up because this is all I got. I don't think I believe in re-incarnation, at least, not in the traditional sense. I think that when I die, my remains will go back into the earth and fertilize the soil and that will bring forth new life. So, in a sense, the ending of my life will birth new life but I don't think I'm coming back into human form again. I'm always open to being wrong though.

I have these moments of absolute clarity and yet, slowly, ever so quietly and sneakily, that damn party crasher, Fear, moves in on me. Just when I think I'm onto something like being a writer or moving to California or going to see this man in France who I still long for, Fear puts up his black-gloved hand and says, "Oh no, no, no, you can't do THAT. Are you SERIOUS?! What could you possibly be THINKING?" And he stands there in my way like a big bully smoking his goddamn awful menthol cigarettes with his cocky little smirk and sunglasses. He never shows his eyes, the damn coward.

But, you know what, one of these days, I'll drum up enough love to pick him up and carry him off in my womanly arms and tell him, "Basta! You go sit in your little corner and sulk all you want but I'm going and you can't stop me."

Sometimes, we live in a place for a certain purpose and when that purpose is done, our time there is over. A little over a year ago, this man from France (who I mentioned earlier) was watching me in the kitchen while I was struggling with something. He had already asked if I needed help. (He was always asking me if I needed help) and, as usual, I said no and continued struggling on my own. So, he stood there and watched me. And finally, after some time of me still struggling, he smiled, shook his head and said in the most loving of ways, "You're all alone in the world, aren't you?" I don't think even he realized how accurate that statement was/is. And that's the trouble with being a pioneer in anything. It's a lonely position to fill because you end up being out there, all alone. And for a time, the pride accompanying such solo accomplishment is big enough to fill the growing void. But, at some point, the costs outweigh the benefits.

Now that I've set myself up as a pioneer woman, I'm not quite sure how to bow out of it. And yet, I know the answer will come in time. It's like planting a seed, origin unknown, and waiting for that little seed to get the message to sprout, each day checking to see what exactly it's growing up to be. I guess I'm still growing myself up. I'm not yet sure what I am. Then again, maybe none of us really know. We're all just pretending to some degree or another. Pretending to be happy and content. Pretending to love our lives meanwhile drinking every night. It's all just make-believe. I've seen people who seem to have it all - the house, the loving husband/wife, the beautiful child, the enviable job and yet, I see a deadness in the eyes. It's like the spark's been snuffed out.

I thought I had the answers by living "alternatively." I've always had trouble with the mainstream way of doing things. I've always been a rebel in my own way. If someone tells me I can't do something, you can be sure as hell I'm going to prove them wrong. I walk on the manicured grass instead of the designated pathways in fancy places because I can't stand convention and doing things because that's the way they're supposed to be done. As much as I love this side of myself, I'm starting to see the dark side, that being isolation.

I know there must be a way to live in community and still be a rebel. I guess this is the next part of my journey after my descent into the underworld where I must deal with this psyche of mine; namely Mr. Fear, himself. I have a feeling that when I get close enough to remove those glasses of his, I'll see he's really just a ghost telling an old story because that's the only one he knows. So I'll give him a new story: one of a woman courageous enough to leave her island of broken down dreams in search of a warm hearth where friends and family welcome her.