Be at home

Be at home.

In this body.

In this home, even though I sometimes want to do a complete start-over somewhere else.

I live here now. So be at home.

In the midst of this scruffy, strange high desert experiment of a micro-farm

Road by the tracks

Road by the tracks

Anxiety and anger. Loneliness. Being holiday-frazzled. Fear. These are genetic remnants flowing through me. From countless ancestors. From life circumstances pelting this body, this mind. I’d have thought as an anthropologist I could look at this part of myself and shrug it off. It’s nature. I can’t. Not so easily.

I can change how I react or respond. In fact that’s it. React or respond. React to a lion chasing me and hurray for the body’s reactions. Respond to economic stresses. This is what they say, allostasis or adjusting to the newest normal is part of what we are; it’s established in our DNA and our neurons (Sapolsky, 2004). That’s reassuring. When the storm is past, I can return home. Theoretically that’s where the peace is. The ease. The calm. The healing.

My previous external world has been shattered. But, again, I know I keep saying it, the storm has passed.

My internal world is something else. It was shattered into thousands of fragments, some of them very strange. Everything wobbled. Many things came crashing down. Some things will not be rebuilt. Ever.

I’m still here. After the changes and in the midst of surveying the wreckage, I can look at what remains. Strengthen what remains is something I used to hear. Maybe that applies to where I am right now. Same words, different context. I’m still here, surveying the wreckage, looking to strengthen what remains.

I am at home. My body is at home. My mind. My work. My friends and family. Everything changes. Everything will change. I am at home. Again. And again.

Mesquite near the orchard.

Mesquite near the orchard.

Sapolsky, Robert M. (2004). (3rd ed.). Why zebras don’t get ulcers. New York: Henry Holt and Company.

About rainshadowfarm

I teach anthropology, am an archaeologist, a drylands agroecologist, community educator, and a single mother of eight grown kids. I currently own and operate an educational and research farm in the southern Mojave Desert, Rainshadow Farm. I'm 100% West Virginia hillbilly. Not necessarily in that order.
This entry was posted in Anthropology, gray divorce, Life changes, resilience, spiritual ecologies and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink.

6 Responses to Be at home

  1. lula avila says:

    I loved this, thank you for sharing it, i make my body my home too when everything around me falls apart.

  2. You carry the answers in your words, wise woman. If you could see yourself from the outside, I can only imagine how proud you would be of the woman you have become and will become.

    • Reticula, I love you. You know you’ve been part of my healing, don’t you? And some words you spoke to me about my heart back before the storm hit landfall — you planted the slow-burning fuse of truth in that heart of hearts. Thank you.

  3. I don’t know why your beautiful blog fell off my blogroll, but I’ve added it back on again and so look forward to catching up and reading more of your life and experiences and meditative thoughts.

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