The Time Has Come...
The whiskers on the dog twitch as the ceiling fan oscillates above us, the sound created is similar to that of a ticking clock, reminding me that time is passing very slowly. The air here is humid and the furniture is old. I have found myself here again, perhaps fourteen years since the last time. In Florida. Strange and bizzare Florida. I can never be sure why my Grandmother moved here, but it seems the lifestyle and the temperature agree with her. She sits on the sofa in front of me, her face obscured slightly by a small bamboo pot plant and watches a very loud, brash and slightly terrifying 'Family Fortunes'. I sit back behind the plant, take a deep breath to centre myself and remove myself partially my the noise created by the television and begin to write.
The first five months of 2012 have been rich in substance and variety. I have worked and travelled with friends and with Abe in places I had only dreamt of being in. I have found myself in situations that have challenged me and caused me to see, question and understand myself more intimately. With people around me I have felt alone, when I have been physically alone, I have felt peace like never before and vice versa. I have pushed myself beyond any boundaries and discovered much more about the insides of my mind: about what really makes Katy tick.
During my brief adventure around some of Central America and a teeny weeny bit of North America, I have been pondering over some of the discoveries I made in the three months I had spent previously in India.
I had spent the entire of my early twenties worrying about what I was 'supposed' to be doing with my life and consequently avoiding enjoying my creativity. In India, for some reason, I learnt to calm my mind. I learnt the true value of giving up the search for the next great thing and began focussing completely on the moment. No more did I spend my nights sleepless over the concern for my lack of career and apparent lack of direction. No more. In fact, the more I chilled out, the more I found myself picking up a pencil to draw, a paintbrush to paint, a torn piece of tin foil to mould in my hands.
I enjoyed being creative for enjoyments sake. I have not made money from my art or creations - something that in the past concerned me. I now realise that money is an abstract idea and cannot provide me with the happiness I sought in it. My creativity comes straight from my heart and is made to share with those I love. I am privileged to have been given the time to make these discoveries. In a world that can seem detached, I learnt to reattach. I discovered that my life is simple, as are my needs. But there was something still to be learnt.
Since travelling around parts of Central America with friends and my fiancé, where I met an abundance of intriguing characters, I have returned home with every story, every encounter, every moment, metaphorically pinned to my skin as a Brownie badge to remind me of the joy that exists when existing in bliss. Living minimally from a back pack, eating delicious fruit from the hands of those who grew it, taking in the colours of the hand dyed wools and rubbing my fingers along the rough texture of aged wooden doors with huge iron hinges: I felt each moment was real and I was there to be in each moment entirely. I learnt to live to my full capacity - to live right now.
I was fortunate to travel so freely. I left behind the self that never felt good enough to succeed and returned with a new self who learnt to relax and remove her concerns of failure and self pity. My time here is valuable. It is precious. I know that if I want my life to happen as I feel it should, I can make it do exactly that. Exist in contentment.
When I sleep, I dream of temples. I stand at the top of Temple IV in Tikal and look across the distance in awe: a forest has grown around the Mayan ruins where now only their peaks can be seen. My dream virtigo keeps me a metre from the edge but I still smile as a breeze washes over my face and through my hair. I dream of India, of the temples there where communities gather to share in each other's beliefs. Om in my ears and a pinch of red turmeric dabbed on my forehead. I feel along the carvings of the Hindu Gods, the stone is warm under the palm of my hands. I dream that I am back in Oaxaca and San Cristoba in Mexico, bartering and laughing with cheeky ladies who are selling their crafts. Sitting on the roof top of the hostals and watching as the sky turns pink and the sun sets behind the distant mountains, sharing a beer with old and new friends. I dream that I am sat on the edge of Rasta Roy's boat on the Caribbean waters, about to dive in to the warm, crystal blue waters below, ready to make friends with glittering and colourful fish. I dream of laying down on a pontoon on with Abe, the water underneath us is a mysterious cloudy white, the sky above is black and sprinkled with stars that feel so close I could reach up and grab them. I dream I am next to him, holding his hand and rubbing his fingers gently with mine. I wake up and I am back in my bed at home in the Shed and Abe is still there. He is asleep and our hands are clasped together.
I see that my path is written a centimetre ahead of my footsteps. Keep close to it, don't drag your feet nor try to run: you may just lose yourself.
