“Home is the place where, when you have to go there, they have to take you in.”
― Robert Frost
The final days of this trip to Spain are winding down.
I have gotten to the point where I am completely weary of travel; I am ready to go home. I long for my house and my cats and my dog and my bed. I long for the sweet smell of the backyard and the sight of the dog racing to meet me from the back of the lot. I long to able to cook again and eat what I like instead of what I can forage from what’s available.
I haven’t written anything since week one of the trip. (I’ve journaled and taught writing to others, but I realized today I’ve been neglecting the one thing that always grounds me: the written word.)
When I don’t write – and examine my experience through that lens – I tend to get lost.
I get swept up in the rush of the moment. I forget to take stock, to slow down, to chew on things, to unpack my experiences. When I don’t write and unravel and ruminate and reflect, I get lost.
A lot has happened in the past three weeks.
I did breath work and regression hypnotherapy.
I danced and rocked and sat back to back with a total stranger, sobbing one moment and laughing hysterically the next.
I participated in business seminars and goal setting and relationship coaching. I walked miles through the snaking roads and little side streets and squares that are everywhere in Barcelona. I ate weird cheese and enough Jambon sandwiches to last a lifetime. I people watched and devoured vegan cupcakes. I sat in tapas bars and tasted a wonderful array of Spanish olives and pickled fish and potatoes and pork ribs.
Right now I am sitting in my underwear on the 21st floor of the Melia Barcelona Sky Hotel, watching sailboats on the Mediterranean. My left leg is blown up with eczema that has plagued me the whole trip. For portions of this time, I had open sores all over it.
I still do.
A friend from the conference made me a concoction of honey, garlic, and turmeric to draw all the poison out from beneath the skin. It has helped greatly, but I am still suffering with it.
I‘ve never had eczema in my entire life.
She asked me, point blank, “Why don’t you think you deserve to have a nice trip? You are in this beautiful place and you’ve not taken care of yourself to the point that this erupted all over your leg.”
And I had no answer.
Why did I sabotage the trip? What is this ailment trying to tell me?
After thinking about it, sitting with this sea view and soft bed, I realize I have things I need to face and I cannot run away from my need to face them.
I realize I need to practice self-care instead of running myself into the ground.
I realize there are valid reasons to take down time, get massages, take poetry courses, and otherwise avoid all forms of negativity.
I cannot encourage or help others if I don’t take care of myself.
I am not my body, but I need a body – this body, in particular, to haul my soul around for a few more decades.
So, I must choose to be gentle with myself.
I must realize that I can’t do everything in one day.
I also realize that I’ve loved this experience but I love the life I have, too.
It has been revelatory and heart-opening.
And now I want to go home. I want to go back to the familiar comforts and glorious sunrises and breathtaking wildness of Northern NM.
This way of life in Barcelona has been about being, much more than doing.
And I can take that sense of how to approach life home to NM.
I want less doing and more being, as a new friend said recently in a Facebook post.
Yesterday in the workshop with Neale Donald Walsch he told me I no longer have to be invisible or afraid. He told me I have nothing to be afraid of.
And maybe, at the end of this long, luminous, life-changing trip, that’s what I came to hear.
I don’t have to become someone else. I just need to stand up and allow myself to be seen.
I just need to be me: the divine, messy, imperfect, snarky, loving, wonder-filled woman that I am.
And so do you, dear hearts. So do you.
#homewardbound #angelsguidemehome #homeiswheretheheartis.
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© 2017 Shavawn M. Berry All rights reserved
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