detachment.
The road was winding down out of the pine thick green forest, into the lighter juniper brush and finally hitting the land covered with our Desert Guardian, The Saguaros. The sky was so blue, electric-bright and the sun seemed to be relentless. The temperature said 115 and for the third time in 2 months, my air conditioning in my beloved Outback just went out. I began to have a panic attack. A real one. My heart jumped to my throat. Its pounding raced like there was a finish line for it somewhere. My palms sweat like a faucet. My breathing was shallow. All I could do was make a strange humming noise and flutter my hands by my face. My husband glanced at me while he drove, and I think that at that moment he realized how insane I was. I started to whimper.
“I know, wifey, it’s hot. We’ll be home soon.”
No. Not hot. Not that at all.
WHAT IF THE HOUSE DOESN’T SELL? I think I screamed it.
Here my deepest, darkest, scariest fear lives and it lives with me every moment. The possibility that it just. wouldn’t. sell. In time. In time for what? I guess in time for me to get up to Washington before this baby came swirling out of me. In time to find someone, like a midwife, to guide us with this birth. In time to find a place to live other than a pop-up. In time to take a leisurely vacation up the coast with my little family. In some kind of time.
“I’ve been scared of that, too, wifey,” says He. “But while you all slept last night and I sat outside the tent and watched the stars shoot and got to hear nothing, absolutely nothing for the first time in a long time, I realized I had to detach myself from it all, especially any time frame. The house will sell. But we need let go of the desperation that it must sell now. I hope it will, I think it will, but if it doesn’t, we’ll deal with it. I think in the detachment we’ll find some freedom. It’ll help us de-stress a bit.”
Okay Mr. Zen-y-pants. Fine. Don’t you just know it all? But I want to get the FUCK outta here NOW. NOW!! I cannot have another child here. FUUUUCK.
“I can’t have this kid here.”
“I know you don’t want to, but if we have to, we have to. But I am sure we won’t have to.”
“No, if we have to I will have this baby along side the Scenic Highway they call The 1.” I quickly remember a mystic I went to see back in 2000. Her name was Maya and her cards told me that I would have a baby on the road someday. (This thought quickly brings me to the fact that we probably should invest a bit bigger vehicle.)
He starts to talk again about how all our stress is because we are putting this strict timeline on ourselves. That we just need to let it all be and let this action, this shift happen on its own because we have done the work for it. I plug my ears and hum some more. He sighs.
This I don’t want to hear. This means I have to let go of myself, my desires, my needs. My expectations of my future. This means I have to just take what comes to me, prepared to allow its own happening, like a river, around the rocks, knowing I am going somewhere, emptying myself out in more water, but the path is not written, or rigid. It just is and I flow with it. Shit. All this work; ripping up floors and tearing up warped butcher block, and installing stone and making wholes in the ceiling for fancy lights and painting walls and living with nothing except empty space; this vision board I carefully crafted with times and dates and numbers and photos of rocky coastline and kids playing with chickens; the talks with the realtor in Washington; the dreams of being all cozy and pregnant in warm wool wraps, for the first time not carrying to term in triple degree temperatures, instead birthing with a light snow falling, a fireplace lit, a foggy, marine layer, a winter morning when my child comes to me. Wool socks on. Frost on a window. Broth on the stove.
All this, all this wanting, longing, and still i must become detached.
The wise let go of the self and being free of attachment they depend not on knowledge. Nor do they dispute opinions or fix upon any view. For those who have no wishes for either extreme of becoming, here or in another existence, there is no conflict….
From Sutta-Nipata, teachings of the Buddha.
Make sure to stop in SF on the way to Washington…
Comment by Andrew — July 12, 2007 @ 12:32 am
New friend, again, we have this in common. I found out we were pregnant, and immediately, we began the process of moving. We ended up buying a home in November, before our house sold. In fact, our house still has not sold - yes, stressful. But we decided to move before the baby was born, to settle me somewhat. That meant the stress of owning two homes, but it was worth it. Hard times now, but I was able to enjoy my babymoon. ANY chance you can get up to WA before the birth, any chance at all? Should you need an ear on this topic as well, I am here. I’ve been there. Hugs -
Comment by Joanna — July 12, 2007 @ 1:00 am
MB, me again: I meant to add, regarding the ‘detachment,’ which is a really important idea - I, too, had to reconcile myself, let go, on many things. I compartmentalized it all, somehow, and came up with my one ‘need,’ and that was to get into my new house before the birth, to be able to settle in with the baby - to not have to show a house at 9 months pregnant, or post-partum; to not have to clean, maintain, etc. I didn’t care if our new house was in a state of disrepair (and it was, a bit); I made my own space in our bedroom and that’s all Moira and I needed. Everything else, as hard as it was, I let go…for the first time in my life. (I am not a let-go type of person). I’ll be with you on that one - it’s not easy, but it’s vital. Rather than detach, perhaps you can realistically set your goal for what you need surrounding you during and after your birth, and work towards that. Everything else will come. It will.(Hugs)
Comment by Joanna — July 12, 2007 @ 1:06 am
Poor guy…sorry bro
Comment by budda — July 12, 2007 @ 10:13 am
MB,
I am wishing, in my little self, to have some wise words that would sound lovely and offer insight. I am knowing, in my big expansive Self, that I do not have them nor are they what these words of yours want and ask and offer.
Why is the hardest thing in the world to do nothing? To let go and surrender and “detach”? I do not know. But I do know you are not alone. I am here honoring this moment in your life and walking alongside you.
Comment by writermommy — July 12, 2007 @ 10:45 pm
MB,
I am wishing, in my little self, to have some wise words that would sound lovely and offer insight. I am knowing, in my big expansive Self, that I do not have them nor are they what these words of yours want and ask and offer.
Why is the hardest thing in the world to do nothing? To let go and surrender and “detach”? I do not know. But I do know you are not alone. I am here honoring this moment in your life and walking alongside you.
love,
bella
Comment by writermommy — July 13, 2007 @ 3:22 am
MB, I know how hard it was for you having Sula in a new place, alone and hot and trusting only your mama-self & your man but not necessarily feeling the place beyond your nest.
I know how your heart yearns for Washington and a community where you belong so this baby can come out in the dream you dream for it.
Hold onto your dreams, your baby just might be dreaming out loud through you.
Bill is doing everything he can to make it happen. Trust.
On a practical level, I wish I was there with you to choose shower curtains and hang art work and sip iced tea as we stroll through air-conditioned box stores looking for the smoke & mirrors that helps a house sell.
Do you know what though? Your house is a HOME and it feels like one. This magnetism will attract buyers…maybe a mama just look you searching for the right place to hunker down, for a while.
P.S. Don’t forget to bury St. Joseph in your front yard. He gets buried upside down. Use your Catholic card and call on all those rosaries and novenas you have said in your lifetime.
Comment by Brooke — July 14, 2007 @ 11:16 pm
I wanted to tell you about Saint Joseph. Dammit Brooke. But it worked for me in Ashland. Just don’t forget to dig it up and pass it on. I forgot that part and for eternity will feel like an ungrateful, self-centered, schmuck. I think if I were stuck in Arizona and didn’t want to be, I would reread the Barbara Kingsolver trilogy of books “The Bean Trees”, “Pigs in Heaven” and “Animal Dreams”. Don’t ask me why I told you that. But it came to me. Maybe it is I who should read them! It’s been years. xo
Comment by Marianne — July 17, 2007 @ 1:38 am