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.