Tuesday, March 24, 2015

part two: home.

::: this is part two of a series about home part one is here :::

the day we let go of hope, our new story could begin. 

mind you, i had no idea this is what was happening. we had so many clear tubes, colorful wires, electrical sockets, tied up placentas, injections of hope inside starting new, over and over and over again. 

we started a new for seven years. 
we were not going to give up. 

there were many firsts. documentary style firsts. american express coming to the door on christmas eve to take my husband to court, selling the rings or the car being repo'ed in the middle of the night. car alarm blaring all the way down the hill with the car seats in it. 
picking the car up later that day with 6 pit bulls to guard the gate. 'this doesn't look like the volkswagon dealer dad.' 

heart breaking. 
heart all over the place. 
hearts full with hope. 

i couldn't find anyone who came from where i came and landed where i landed. i tried to make small talk. i tried to answer the questions how are you? where are you going for spring break? i tried to share the story. i tried to look for help, for support, for a mother. in the depths of hope i tried to lose the story or maybe i was hoping to find myself inside of it. the story never fit me. it was too big around the neck line or too tight in the hip. i was trying to do anything i could to lighten the heavy in a serrated terrain of thick thick shame. the yoga, the walking, the playdates, the writing, the working. how to live when so much is dying? how to live period. how to make a life in this life? the dreams, the vows, the definitions, old beliefs, the thinking, the knowing, my mothers voice, my fathers voice, the groundlessness of it all.i couldn't find anything in there. i was no where to be found. 

i started to get really hungry. 

the only thing i could find was the fire. the cake plate. the wood board. the bread knife. the bartlett pear. the golden beet. the farmer. the land. the source. my breath. 5:30 am. the shame. the shame. the shame. the olive oil cake. loneliness. the bad ass book. 5:30 am. my breath. miracles. homeopathy. my body. courage. the unknown. anxiety. panic attacks. deep loss. friendship. sadness. my vulnerability. all the broken pieces. soup. altars. arthritis. my marriage. baby white turnips. ocean. beauty. values. mary oliver. pema chodron. a kitchen healer. meridians. cupping. poetry. grief. dreams. fear. fearlessness. suffering. softening. my breath.

the only thing i could find was beauty. 

beauty in everything. beauty inside the pain. beauty inside the suffering. beauty in this polyester suit in summer. beauty in not knowing anything. beauty in the beatings. beauty in my breath. beauty in a bowl full of golden nugget tangerines. beauty in my lop-sided c-section scar. beauty in my body. beauty in my inflamed toes. beauty in everything. beauty in the leaning in. beauty in letting go. beauty in my fears. beauty in telling the story. beauty in the permission. beauty in the freedom. beauty in not knowing what is going to happen next.

::: this is part two in a series about home :::


  1. So raw and pure in the truths here. I see you and honor that witnessing so hugely. Thank you for welcoming me in. Such love and strength you contain Jules. So much.

  2. Thank you. Thank you. I have a similar story, it's how we left California and ended up in Oregon. It's somehow comforting to know there are others with similar stories. Mostly, thank you for seeing the beauty. And for sharing the beauty. Thank you, for you. xoxo

  3. Beautiful, Jules. Crying, of course. XO

  4. You are beautiful. Full stop.