Dear Anias,

My time is spent undoing the habits in thought and action that I wore like this small red band around my wrist.

Not giving it too much thought.

Noting the pinch of the skin, the thin, barely perceptible threads have left their impression.

It glitters in the light, the small round silver and gold jewels.

There has been no sun for days, and so it is dull as the sky.

A great thunderstorm broke the monotony last night. Nearing 11pm, I saw through the small windows on the ceiling in my bedroom how the sky was bright, brighter than it had been in the day! Lashes of light shoved the shadows from my room. The boom of thunder still took me by surprise, and I jumped from the bed and ran into the living room.

What I'd hoped to find there (refuge from the storm under the wooden beams, perhaps?) I'll never know. I moved from a pure instinct. A single-pointed focus to flee. I thought to call Amanda or Clara. I stopped myself. What would I say? I am scared, alone in a storm in the South of France?

And what am I really afraid of if a croak of thunder can shake my heart so hard!

I stood in my bare feet on those cold red tiles for some time, listening to my body beat. My pulse was so fast. My throat was tight. My palms were damp and I willed myself to be still and breathe as the rain roared overhead and shook the glass.

What an event to witness- the storm within as a response to the storm without!

I stayed in that spot until the fear abated and I was left within myself. I pressed my feet down into the floor and stood a little taller. I willed my hands to release and my breath to deepen. I willed my face to soften, and my jaw slackened.

How long I remained in that state, I do not know. Orange lights came to me and I felt my pulse in my belly at my navel. Manipura Chakra, the City of Resplendent Jewels! I closed my eyes and watched the citrus-colored balls of light spiral around my abdomen. For so many years, I have remained detached from my power source. I am physically strong, though spiritually unplugged.

I felt my heart sigh. The cold, hard lashes of lightning continued and I allowed the temper to move around me. I lit incense, a smokeless wand I purchased at a small shop, with a man who watched me over his paper mask. How odd to think that this was the norm only a year ago. To see half of someone's visage!

From the shop, I purchased the insense, twenty sticks that smelled of softwood. I also picked up a shampoo and conditioning set for dry, damaged hair. The conditioning treatment smells like daffodils. At least, that is what the picture presents on the bottle.

I did an hour of yoga, at midnight. As the scent seeped into the room, I felt the plants breathe. As it rained and thundered softly overhead. The first bang was like cannons blasting; after that, it was a lion'slion's growl.

I've been watching for when I am filled with angst and my body contracts. Fear is catching- it passes quickly from person to person.

I do not want to live in that doom and gloom body. It does not fit my heart well and I cannot move with as much agility. I need to be flexible; freedom relies on the softening of the body!

When I am in fear, I am closed up like an oyster shell or tomb.

When I am not in fear I am porous as the trees and alive with the in and out, taking in and letting go freely.

As I moved my body, I was charged with the quality of being hard and soft at the same time. Pressing my heels and palms into the earth in downward dog, I felt my muscles charged with vitality. I felt my breath puff up my lungs and create space within. I felt buoyant and strong, like a hot air balloon taking flight. I direct the hot air that encourages the balloon to the sky with every inhale. With every exhale, I allow myself to die.

All we do is breathe ourselves in and breathe ourselves out. The question is: who do we exchange ourselves with?

I am alone most of the time. I have designed my life this way.

I have very few friends. Even fewer persons that I love and trust. I prefer it this way, I think.

I feel a certain malaise, sometimes, at how utterly alone I am and will continue to be as I align with what I want to produce. I can feel it. I need this time to myself.

I can feel some inside work that is tenderly examining and unwinding the invisible knots binding me to ideas and habits of my past. My relationship with space is changing. My attitude has often adjusted, not to the environment but to what I want to create for myself.

I need to be focused, disciplined, resilient, and at ease. I must learn the art of concentration. I can no longer do so many things at once in a day. To write, I must refine.

The ways of what I was are no longer working. I have outgrown that person of my past and the shell has left me open and throbbing like a mollusk without its shell.

In the efforts of my final move, I recycled all the photos and mementos of who I was. There will come a time that I want these objects to encourage memories. There will be a day that I no longer recall what I looked like at six, sixteen, or twenty-six. Who was I, I'll ask myself. What did I love?

Do these qualities ever change? I think not.

The shell does not matter; it's the inside that counts.

My landscape is like the keyhole to a door that I've placed my eye to peer through. My palms are shielding my face at the temples and I am peering into the darkness on the other side of the door. I cannot see what is in there, though I trust that something will appear if I stand at the door and keep looking. Eventually, the light will appear.

Where I stand at this side of the door is not interesting to me. I do not pay attention to the shapes, colors, textures, or aromas around me. I feel my body and know it is clothed in some garment I've selected to remain inconspicuous. To fit in. To blend into that room as I wait.

Photo source.