We Begin - Again

Last week, we laid out our house for the second time. The first time came just before my body shut down as a message to me about misalignment—something I had to trust, even though I knew it would confuse and disappoint others involved at that time.

A year later, we were out there again, getting ready to break ground as soon as we get permission. I am not a woman who likes to ask for permission, especially when it comes to the land I so deeply respect, so this bureaucratic process is one of non-attachment and trust.

When my grandmother passed away, she began showing up for me in various places in my home, and I realized the profound impact she had on my life and my purpose now. She appears in coffee mugs, the taste of nectarines, jars of apricot jam, rolling chairs, kitchen rags wrung out with soap and water, bread boards, sauvignon blanc, and never drinking more than one glass.

To name a few.

She also shows up as a dragonfly. Today, when I paid for our septic permit, a dragonfly flew right up to me when I arrived at the building department. When I left, there were two dragonflies, and I knew it was my grandparents stopping by for a moment to say, “Good job.”

And so, after four years of holding this project in my heart and on paper, we begin bringing it into this world of matter.