And Then We Sweetly Forget

Part two of an ongoing roadtrip series 

After Grief Comes Nostalgia

Fellowshipping with a group of ex-amish women over Thanksgiving in Lancaster Pennsylvania

My only plan for November and October was to write. I wrote, and two new novels came to me.

Beginning of November I met up in Asheville with one of my best friends. We found ourselves all the way down in Louisiana for the Blackpot festival, then up to visit friends in Mississippi: a pile of wild boys with the most dangerous ideas of fun. Somehow we lived and didn't want to leave. 

Back in Asheville I did a bit of a work trade sewing a bunch of cushions to stay in at an artsy commune. My sunroof was also broken into. Nothing of mine was even rifled through. I figure they took one look at my hanging herbs and baskets of mugs and chopsticks and piles of wool and linen and thought it must be a witch's lair. Nothing was stolen. But the glass was miserable to clean up, and my duct tape only holds up for a storm or two before I have to recover the hole.

My friend and I danced, I spent days exploring and walking and writing. We visited Turtle Island in Boone County and cooked at a campfire workshop. I found a lace table cloth for $3 and washed it. We saw Bombadil live in Durham and went to the beach. 

After I left Asheville I camped in Shepherdstown WV and Harrisonburg Va for a little over a week. I visited many sweet families, ran into folks I'd met years ago, and traveled with a woman I met at Porcfest. 

I did a lot of writing. I camped in a church parking lot and started a project I'm very excited about. I began writing my own happy story. I bought cufflinks. I found a dirty vintage couch, took the covers and washed them, and hope to make a duffle bag soon.

I cut my finger helping a mother cut fish, and I cleaned it in gas station restrooms and butterflies it with an Amish honey salve, rinsing it off with colloidal silver.

Life was sweet.

I slept and I forgot and I withdrew into oblivion. It's not a good place to remain, but a place to abide until the storm rushes sudden and unsurprisingly, "Do you remember?"

Yes. I remember. But also I've forgotten.

You see, I'm walking backwards while stepping forward. Hope doesn't die in the quiet. Strenght of sight shines brightest for those who shut their eyes and drop let go of their crutches to have open hands. 

It is the greatest phenomenon to forget and forgive and move on. 

"I'm stepping forward walking backwards,

It's called moving on knowing truth still lives in the rearview mirror. 

And now that I've thrown away the cards

We'll watch your stolen rib shrivel until our souls come together"

Time is our enemy. Eternity brings us back to where we belong. I can't kill time with this sweet leisure of letting go. I've lost myself to the vast space of eternity: time has already died.