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August 1/Full Moon
On my way home
Again taking the time to create this post in advance while I have stable and predictable access to the internet to make sure these posts go to you on the moon phases. I am sitting here in my sister Becka’s beautiful new home in Portland, neither my Dad nor Mom got to see it, but they would have loved it. We are on the near end of our travels and it is funny how, when you begin the return journey, the pilgrimage is over. Our objectives have changed. We had headed out seeking connection and found it thru new experiences with dear friends, meeting strangers, reuniting with family and friends and places, honoring our lost loved ones, meeting new places and peoples, and now we turn back seeking home. Below are some photos of our time in Portland.
Before we left Becka’s house, I couldn’t find my keys.
It was a surprise to me that I couldn’t find them in their usual spot, as I rely on my discipline in order to stay organized and early on in this trip there was a key mishap that had me all the more vigilant. I am careful to move them from the car when we stop, so as not to lock them in. I always keep them with me or deposit them in the usual spot, otherwise they and I would be lost. I have taken to wearing my backpack purse everywhere, it is the holder of all the things I need to function while I travel, phone, keys to both the car and Vistabule, glasses to see, sun hat, lotions and potions, etc. But that system didn’t save me.
When I found them missing, I searched pockets, bags, expected locations, finding them nowhere. Remembering last time I had them — locking the car after getting Rachel from the airport. Wracking my brain and making up scenarios of the wheres and hows of them getting lost. Could they have fallen out somewhere? Calling all the places we had gone. If I systematically trace my steps and call, could that save me? Remembering places where my purse had fallen — off my chair at the Behind the Museum Cafe. Places I had carried it recklessly — with arms full traveling out to my Vistabule in the driveway bed. Places I had pulled out my phone repeatedly — Portland Art Museum. Places I had checked to make sure the pocket was zipped — Jamuna’s car. Even considering, could I have been pick pocketed? Remembering that woman behind me at the crosswalk, when we exchanged smiles and I felt safe. But was I fooled?
We sent Henry on his way to London. Holding his suitcase up to my automatic locks just to be sure it wasn’t hiding in there. Checked the online sites, Portland’s lost and found. Only then finally moving on and letting go. Forgiveness of my rusty brain, practicing trust mantras, they will show up.
The trip came to an end and we had to say goodbye. Still haven’t found my keys. Now writing this.
Expecting the down period that comes after leaving and doing it while taking long turns in the driver’s seat. And experiencing the thoughts which come with having lost the keys. Not worthy of the new car. Trying to observe them without getting caught up.
After writing this down and before driving into the land of Idaho and no reception, a video call from Henry, who held up a dangling key fob and said he had found in his hiking boot!
And the mystery was solved.
And my mantra was validated, and not my errant thoughts. And thankfully sooner rather than later.
The keys had traveled to London because we had not checked his back pack where the boots had been packed. And better that to deal with than imagining some stranger had lifted them for no other purpose than to send me down this spiral.
Full moon is for forgiveness, a chance to let go of the way we wanted things to be and just be with how they are. There are more forces at work in the world than just our own will and that is as it should be.
Thanks for reading.
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