Twenty days or so to go until I am on the go full-time.
I am doing a decent job of being productive when it comes to the moving-out business. I have been sorting through and boxing up what remains of my material possessions. I have been doing yard work and filling nail holes and even patched some holes in the dry wall.
I have been less attentive to the making-a-living-somehow business, but I do have lots of ideas as to how other people are doing it. I know how to get day labor gigs, I know how to get mundane data entry stuff, I am also a writer and an artist. I forget that part, but there's money in that if I can get over my fears and put all the stuff I have been ruminating on into action.
I have still been dissociating quite a bit, but have these slow moments of awakening.
I am most mindful in the mornings when I'm walking my roommate's dog. Watching the sunrise as we walk along the river, pausing for all the interesting smells.
But if I am not careful to stay active after that, I will slip back into a coma of depression for the rest of the day.
Which, I think, is one of the big reasons why I am choosing to live as a nomad.
My survival depends on my awareness.
I am hoping it'll bring me back to a full-color vibrancy more of the time.
And after the other night, I am confident that such will be the case. At least for a while.
It was the new moon and my roommate and I left the house right at sunset and drove an hour and a half north to a tall grass prairie preserve where we have gone before to look at all the bison that graze there.
There was zero light pollution and as far as we could tell only one other car in the whole of the 60 mile park.
It was more stars than I had seen in years. The milky way visible with the naked eye. Pure silence other than the ever present crickets and frogs.
After some point of us staring up into the void and seeing the void looking right back, I began to howl.
I do whenever I know there's no one around to hear me (save a friend or two). It's so primal and cathartic. Everyone should howl more.
After my howl there was silence. "Not even a barking dog out here," I chuckled to myself in amusement.
But then, seconds later.
A distant howl and the distinctive yapping of coyotes.
Then another howl from a different direction, this one much closer.
Then a third responding to the others from yet a different direction. This time extremely close.
We were surrounded.
A chorus of coyotes singing to the invisible moon.
And as we drove back through the darkness to the orange glow of Tulsa, my roommate asleep in the passenger seat, no one else on the highway, I knew that everything was going to be alright.
No matter what happens. It will be alright.
7:51 a.m. - 2021-09-10
Recent entries:
Turkey Day - 2021-11-25
a rumination on sex and love - 2021-11-20
Where I've Been, Where I am - 2021-11-09
An attempt to cover some of the distance I have traveled. - 2021-10-17
Less of an update, more of a teaser of an update - 2021-10-16
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