Two Weeks In. Here's a List...

1. Talking to bugs.

I do it all the time. I explain why I'm moving them from point A to B. I explain that everything is okay. I mean them no harm. It's actually better for them outside with the trees than with me and the stubborn scent of tea tree oil. I even talk to the ones I end up killing. I tell them that I didn't intend for things to end up this way. That I tried to give them every reasonable way out, but I'm sleepy and have no time to wait for a mosquito to decide when to leave my tent.

2. Trying to clean my tent.

I used to be a sloppy person. I doubt I will be again. Trying to sweep mulch out of a tent when I am surrounded by nature and mud and muddy nature and more mud and hay--well, it's an exercise in futility. Still, I do it. I do it because I can get lots of it out. I remind myself of that fact as I track more in.

3. Being on a hugging basis with someone whose name you do not know.

Yes. It's true. I have hugged nearly everyone on this campus. I only know about a third of their names. I know everyone's life story. I've cried with nearly everyone, but names. And when I ask their name again, no one minds. It's true. I can recognize someone's energy and their face, but not their name. I can say that here. It's okay.

4. Often, I seem like the least flaky person here.

This boggles my mind somewhat. I'm pretty out there, yet, I've met people in their sixties who don't have addresses or telephone numbers. I don't judge. It just fascinates me. It fascinates me because I realize more and more that I am less drawn to completely removing myself from mainstream culture. What I prefer is making the "real" world a little bit more like Omega.

5. Everyone farts in yoga class

6. Words fail at adequately processing a typical day here.

So much has gone on over the last few days. Today I spent in workshop on peaceful communication. It's changing me. Last night, I started coming up with my own mission statement. The lead singer of Sweet Honey on the Rock said hello to me as we walked by each other and I haven't even begun to scratch the surface to what my days are like. I try to journal, but I find myself eager instead to sleep and let my dreams tell me my story.

7. I have no idea what I'll be like when I'm done here.

8. I'm afraid I'll never want to leave.

It's so safe here. I've never in all my life felt so safe anywhere at any time. It's so secure. I'm a bit frightened. I can see why people opt to only return to society for a few months each year just to return. I imagine that each subsequent year loses its luster, but even on a rotten day, this place is better than most. Still, I don't imagine myself making this my lifestyle. I can see the value of my time here. I'm learning so much. The work of transformation at this level is best undertaken someplace removed and safe. I get that. But I wonder, how much more would I want to change come October? I don't know. For now, I can't imagine being anywhere else.

9. It takes me nearly two hours to eat.

I've taken to eating much less. I eat mindfully. Prayerfully. It takes a long time. I love it. I hope the habit sticks. I'm sure it will. It takes 40 days to build a habit. I'll be here for 5 months. I eat super slow.

10. Thinking that you want something can make it happen.

I'm getting a bed. Today or tomorrow at the latest. A loaner. Still, it's better than sleeping on the ground. Not that I minded. It was kinda nice just being that close to the earth, but a bed will rule.

11. Getting up in the middle of the night to go pee in the rain is already old.

And I still love being here.