Only been here two days and already I could write a book...

Really, I don't know where to begin. Funny that when I'm walking around or in my tent, I feel full of words. It just flows. This place is soooo beautiful. But it's more than the trees, groundhogs or gophers (I don't know what they are), the deer and the bunnies and--oh, the flowers. It's something else. Time moves differently here. My speed. Actually, slower. More mindful. More aware. More grateful. It's amazing.

My stomach was not hurting, but things were loose, to be polite, for the past day or so. I noticed how quickly I eat. Around the same time, I just became aware of how quickly I walk. How much I stomp along to get from point A to B. It was like that leaving Philly. I was so focused on getting gone that for most of the last few months, I wasn't in Philadelphia anymore. I was so far gone that I fell in love and completely missed it because I was not where I was.

Here it's just easy to draw my attention back to the now. Everything about Omega brings my awareness simply to where I am right now. Sure I get distracted. Yesterday, I sat by a brook watching bees pollinate irises thinking of how I fought not even to acknowledge that I was even brokenhearted and I lost track of the beauty of the brook until a bee buzzed close. It snapped me back. I shed my tear and moved on.

Today. I started the practice of consciously being grateful for whatever day came to me two years ago, but today was the kind of day I've dreamed about. I woke up when I was done sleeping. I dressed how I felt like dressing. Today's color is pink. It's good times. It even rained so I got to rock my kickin' rain boots. I wish I could do justice to this day with words, but I can't. All I know is that my whole life has been a series of interesting disasters that even if my life never becomes anymore than it is right now--well it was well worth it.

Here I can speak my mind without seeming weird, overly profound or flat out crazy. Here it's okay to get distracted by falling seeds and leaves. Here is the place I've been inside for years now. Maybe even all my life. Here it's okay to be myself. All my self. All the time. There are so many things I want to get out of this time here, but I think the only thing I can guarantee is that come October, I'll still be me but unabashedly so. It's good.

I wanted to write so much more about how so many of the conversations I keep having are about marriage and that today I curled up in a window seat and read a picture book about sacred papercuttings after pushing more hay under my tent with a rake to avoid getting wet. And just how good that felt. What a day. I get to stay here for another five months. I am blessed beyond measure.