There will be a writing I decide not to publish.
I will write for three hours about soulmate locations, earth-resonance, trusting the power of ease, and how certain pockets of places on this gorgeous globe truly do enliven, energize and elevate us.
I will reminisce about corners of Texas that sparked unbridled embodied aliveness.
I will retrace my memories to a road-trip through Big Bend National Park and how the vastness of the sky, the golden glow of the mountains and the unfiltered sun catalyzed an unexpected burst of joy that sent me in a spirited sprint down an empty stretch of road.
I will realize that run happened almost eight years ago, and still I will feel the sheer elation of moving my arms, my legs, my body through air and space. I will see my younger self running, in dark jeans, a black tee depicting a compass, and a long white sweater billowing behind like wings. And I will gather speed, flying down a dusty road in spontaneous celebration of living in this miraculous and powerful human body.
I will write about Austin, because Austin will be on my mind, and I will write about a graffiti garden, an abandoned foundation of a home transformed into a public art display. I will revisit the first time I explored the graffiti garden, and how that first visit signaled a shift, a complete reroute in my trajectory.
I will go further back to the kind stranger whom I met at a former lover’s party and how the kind stranger told me he had napped there that day, and intrigued by his word (“A graffiti garden?!”), he warmly suggested that I visit and gave me the directions to what would become my next chapter.
And I will not want to think about him, this former lover, this soulmate who feels like home, because I will have already declared I think about him too much, and sometimes soulmates are not meant to be together and that does not diminish the significance of their presence in our lives. And yet, there in my recollections, against my determination not to think about him, he will appear again, introducing me to a kind stranger who will set in motion the next part of my life.
And my former lover will not have a physical and tangible role in this next chapter.
Although curiously, it was because of that love, of that soul-aligned connection that I am who I am now.
And because of that “love”, Austin, a soulmate city, played a starring role.
In the end, I will think, it always circles back to love, to the people we have loved and how their love, even the smallest of sweet gestures, of introductions and party invitations, all of these seemingly insignificant actions ripple out and shape our path. And I will sigh, seeing the layers, the ever-changing and ever-unfolding dance of dynamics and interactions, and will soften a bit toward him and myself and continue onwards.
I will write about the graffiti garden accidentally.
I will focus on the graffiti garden as a metaphor for the creative liberation I found and experienced in Austin, and in writing about the graffiti garden, I will remember why I moved to Austin: to nourish my creativity, to let it bloom, and how in my years there, I did just that.
And I will be surprised by this re-remembering.
And the surprising will leave me to not publish the blog, to not complete it, because the re-remembering of what I loved and soul-lit resonated with in Austin will dissolve my anger, which is pain, fueling the initial piece.
And I will not write out of unprocessed pain.
I will write my heartaches and fiery questions into my journals, into free writes that are timed to 15 minutes or drench specifically three pages with the unstopped fluidity of pen meeting paper.
I will only write a blog and publish that piece when I have processed and alchemized those experiences, so the words flow forward from that state of embodied and wholehearted understanding.
Initially, I will start to write about how my choice to move to Austin was all karmic, and that due to an astro-geography reading (which is a form of astrology that documents and details how your unique energy interacts with certain places, cities, countries) I will see that other cities, like New York City, which I seriously considered before Austin, appeared to have much more supportive energy.
It will be confirmation to my younger self, the one a few years older than the wild one who went running across the Texas plains, that she sensed correctly when contemplating NYC as a possible choice to move to and thrive in.
I will fall into the juicy seductive trap of “should’a, could’a, would’a.”
I will attempt to envision what my life would have been if I had moved to NYC in my mid to late twenties.
I will ask unknowable questions:
Would I have found improv? Would relying on public transportation have been way easier on my nervous system (versus navigating the notorious traffic cluster of Austin’s overly populated, overly crowded city)? Finally, and most importantly, did I miss the chance to become a real-life version of Carrie Bradshaw?
I will never know, and this at first will actually upset me, until I sit down and write the post that I will not publish about the graffiti garden.
In my mind’s eye, I will see my Astrocartography map (that astrology of place specific to birthdate) again and again, with the brown line depicting Saturn energy (responsibility, discipline, perseverance) splitting right through Austin.
Karmic magnetism, indeed, I will bitterly conclude, and then, I will write about the run that felt like flight through Big Bend and the graffiti garden actualizing my own commitment to wild, untamed, unabashed creativity.
I will not publish the initial draft. I will leave it be.
I will take a break.
I will say out-loud as my mother gardens, as she’ll pull up rich soil, that nothing is ever wasted. The three hours writing will be transmuted into time well-spent, time that felt like water because writing brings me into the realm that is beyond time.
I will take a walk in a long blue dress, a fancy stroll, and relish swaying along the sidewalk and wearing my Madewell sunglasses and feeling the June breeze on my skin.
I will finish the organic dark chocolate bar that I’ve been keeping tucked away in the refrigerator. I will read out-loud the marketing on the back of the chocolate bar to my father and my mother and in both separate occurrences, we will laugh.
And I will come back to my computer, back to the words, back to the map that is not generated by my birthtime and place, but to the map that is etched on the soles of my feet and my palms and in the ever-knowing pockets of my heart.
And I will write from there.
And I will write to you.
And I will again note that nothing is ever wasted, everything can be utilized into richer self-awareness, and I will see that this longing for ease can be met here and now, with writing that comes freely, with permission to savor every morsel of what is real and beautiful and sweet, and to know that Austin and New York are there, and I will begin again by breathing in this moment, full and complete, soft and deep.
I will decide not to publish the first blog.
I will begin again and the unpublished first blog will create the map, pivot the compass to my truest North, so I will hear and write what my heart needs to say.
P.S. ~ Curious about specific places and pockets on the globe that truly resonate and align with your soul-growth?
Then hop over to astro.com , click “Free Horoscopes” and then scroll down to “Locational Astrology,” and you’ll be prompted to share your birthday information.
A map will then appear detailing how specific planets interacted with earth at the extraordinary time of your birth. There may be clues, nudges, ahas! about why certain places really feel like home.
While web and landscape exploring, trust your feet. Trust the compass of your heart. Trust the earth magic that is you and be open to see where the earth magic in you can align and be fostered by an environment, a wild terrain that truly nourishes glorious embodiment.