tis amazing how quickly you can fill a space. even quicker how it can be emptied. my 4×4 wall abode was a haven, a reading nook and in the early mornings, a yoga studio. it is where i write. it is where i cry. it is where i rise. it is a space of comfort, of confidence, of calming bliss. it stores my imagination, walls collaged with photographed memories.
more than not it is messy. over-stuffed with a piano, towering piles of books, fabrics waiting to be sewn and journals spilling with fables untelling. it is a place where i dream at night; laugh during the day. it is where i go to be quiet or to yell out loud.
it is more than just a bedroom — it is a cave, a playpen, a fortress, a palace. it is a visual pinboard of my ambitions. it is a canvass to unleash my inhibitions. a giant scrapbook of my life. and what took a year to build only took a day to put away.
i’m now surrounded by bare walls. life bubblewrapped in four large boxes. i don’t sleep well at night since the demolition began. like the hung picture frame that is now packed up i’m a still frame frozen in time. my cherished words, books and photographs will find me in 10 to 14 weeks. they will travel my sea. i will travel by air. no more lingering in-between for me.
and as silent as these bare walls have become, an unmade bed soon to be emptied too, i recite the great words of t.s. eliot to know that i am not lost for “the way forward is (truly) the way back.”
thankfully, i have three pairs of ruby-red slippers.