Alone.

I had never lived alone. I went from a warm family home to college room-mates. Apartments with friends and then to my partner. I had been living with husband and running boats globally with him and a tight crew, within 100 feet of us at all times for over a decade. My life was rich and I delighted in family/crew meals, laughter at sunset and exploring with my beloved next to me. I didn’t take it for granted. I felt so blessed and was sure to be thankful to the Universe that was holding me with such grace. I wasn’t religious but what I called ‘connected’. I felt Spiritual in nature because nature was my spirit. I coveted sunsets and the sea that caressed me when I swam… admiring fishes and corals, amazed by the world. Volcanoes and whales, sharks and steamy exotic mud pools. I delighted as the calls of new bird songs danced into my soul and I spent hours peeking under rocks and hiking to that next crest, the next bend, the next port… what is over the horizon? I even told my beloved that I would tell him I loved him every day. Even if we didn’t see eye to eye on occasions, I would whisper to him at night… “I love you”. I wanted him to know how loved he was and I wanted to be grateful so to build from that place. From that whole place I loved.

I found myself sitting on my duffle bag, peering at what used to be my home. Her teak decks glowing gold in the morning light. Tears dripped slowly down my cheeks, leopard spotting the grain between my bare feet. And I knew. I knew I probably would not stand on this deck again. Maybe never. The memories were flooding me... the warm breezes and stars, the storms and lightening, the dance parties and long dinners through sunset. I had been pregnant here in excitement of a family, I had miscarried our baby here in despair. And I knew I had to make a choice. I had to choose myself. I had to find the naturally joyous self that I remembered being. The real me. The me that drove to Arizona on a whim, across the desert alone taking photos of my feet. The me who would climb trees and paint. The me who loved picking wildflowers at night during thunderstorms… watching the colors come alive in flashes of color. THAT me. The one who played pranks on my sister and talked smack with my dad. She was still there, somewhere... in a darkness that had her cowering in some corner of my soul. She felt smothered and held down as if drowning in a sea of broken glass reflecting memories that cut. Memories that made her cringe. So she stopped looking. She was curled into herself clasping her knees to her forehead in the darkness. She didn’t even know where the surface was exactly, but she... me… I … knew that there IS a surface and light and I would attempt to hold onto some memory of that world, that moment hiking when I looked behind me to see a great horned owl turning to stare into my spirit. Great golden eyes. Frozen within that thrill of our gaze. And then just like that my mind would return to the glass. Him laughing at the bow for hours talking to her and taking selfies. The naked photo she sent to our joint skype account. I cringe, clamping my eyes shut. I am not sure if I remembered to breathe. I believe I forgot the breath. I couldn’t remember which way the air was. Conversations looping in my mind … repeating… repeating... thundering words shaking my soul. Things I never imagined another human could say. Would I have made a bad mom? Are other women better than me because they are just a different ‘energy’? Am I being crazy and possessive to ask for assurances and love? You are stubborn. Your timing is awful. You are in your ego. You are not supportive. I felt a fire building and I finally stood up in defiance to what was being shown to me.

No. No. I am not this. I am loving and kind. I am compassion and grace.

I am worthy.

I am worthy.

I am worthy.

I open my eyes… I am frozen on the deck. I am not breathing. And I know. I KNOW….

I am done here.

I stand and lift my bag to the edge of the boat. Silence. Numbness. Defiance. I will myself to move. I have tried. I did my best. I walked in love. And I know I must choose now. I must choose myself.

I had never lived alone. I didn’t realize this. I had been in relationships for over 20 years. Even if I spent months on my own, I was still a part of a union. A sacred contract that always was held with me. And as my feet touched the dock, I turned to look at the shiny blue hull… the home that was to be theirs now. I had tried to take everything I could so there was little trace of me. And I touched her one last time, feeling her warm teak. “Thank you… Keep them safe”.

Even as I left, I made sure to hide away his favorite cookies and bundled up bags of the crackers he likes that keep him from being seasick. I had truly loved him the best way I knew how. I smiled and waved at the family docked next to us who I adore… I wondered what they would think when my husband showed up with someone else. Would they feel sad, angry, sorry for me? Or just confused? I knew that I felt all of those things… and more. I felt so much of everything that I was numb. Walking silently to my rental car… memorizing the sound of my luggage on a dock. Smelling the harbor salt air and feeling the warm breeze already attempting to cleanse me. Even though I felt numb and broken... I felt strength in my legs carrying me to….. to…. I didn’t know where I would be going. But I knew that it was better than being in a place where I didn’t feel wanted any longer.

And I knew I would remain in this state. The state of “alone”, until I didn’t feel alone any longer. What I didn’t realize is that this would carry me to the tops of volcanoes and into the jungles of Central America. I would sit by the fire alone and burn everything, releasing the shards of glass… melting it in orange embers of surrender. I learned to pray and how to alchemize the pain and hurt stored in my body. I cleansed. I dove into the ocean and would surface each time feeling brighter. Each time shedding a layer... a false belief of who I had become would sluff away and sink into the depths of ‘away-ness’. Like my soul slowly stitching back into the center of my being, bit by bit by bit. I would tremor each time a memory was accepted and thanked. Closer... closer… As its grip and weight was released into the volcanic soil... each stitch, closer to alignment. I stretched and cried and danced and sat silently allowing each thought to wash over me. I slowly shape-shifted into an observer. Oh, hello memory, how interesting... what have you to teach? Why thank you… thank you. And I began to remember to breathe. I stretched. I ran my hands through grass and began to notice the drops of dew again. I returned to the tide pools and found myself squatting by the water for hours observing crystalline shrimp and fumbling hermit crabs.

I smiled.

I had lifetimes of friends and my loving supportive family holding me... always there. But this was my depths and my mountain and my flames. I could have had a lover... distracting my heart. I could run into the warm embrace of my family… to busy my mind. But I knew my route was to this mountain and through this fire. And I sat in the night alone with my memories clawing at my heart, bleeding them into the flames. And I moved. A gypsy visiting friends. I offered support and love and accepted their support and love and compassion and I’d move on... traveling, sleeping on couches and in their children’s donated beds. I camped alone and walked alone and travelled alone. I still had not remembered... I had never lived alone. I would curl up with a pillow every night, tucking it behind my back where he used to be. I refused to admit how miserably and painfully lonely I was. I acted strong and defiant and much of the time I felt that way. I missed him. I would wake feeling his breath on my neck. And reach to find the pillow. Amnesia in my slumber of truth. In the depth of the night, I wake, hearing him snore and reach to gently move him so he could breathe… I was alone. And in this grief, I received his call that she would be moving onto the boat with him and in our bed. Her things in my closet. They would sail with our friends and family and crew. I felt the mudslide... a sudden collapse into darkness. Plunged into thick rocks and mud and dead things. It was my New Year’s call.

I forgot the tide-pool and dewy grasses. I felt it. As if he were dead. Mourning the loss. And choking on confusion and judgement of myself that I felt the sadness. I had no anger. I was devastated and knew I wanted him happy and he chose her. I also knew he wanted me also but only when he told me. He controlled when I was wanted back. I wasn’t welcome in my home when he wanted her there. And I knew I was done. I could not live like this. How did I end up in a relationship that had my beloved telling me that anyone else is better than me? I am a strong loving, funny, kind, compassionate human. I had taken nothing for granted. I thought of myself as worthy and actually pretty funny. I loved all of my friends and family endlessly. I walked in gratitude. I had a big heart. I cared well for people. I tended to others and loved myself. So, if I am such a good person, why didn’t my beloved see me any more? I realized my dependence on his reflection. I became curious about his lens then released that into the fire. I would only focus on my own. I breathed and meditated, cleansed and spoke with others who were trained in trauma, neurologic programming, quantum physics… I sat in sweats with Lakota elders and spoke with grandmothers around fires. I drank coconut water and spirulina and I danced alone on hilltops. I walked barefoot in the forest, crouching to investigate the moss. I prayed with Shaman and I sat with a snail, watching her cross the trail, her glistening comet tail refracting light.

I smiled.

Tides of laughter and grief, joy and hope… each time the wave came in, another layer released to the depths of the sea in gratitude… in gratitude. My breath became deeper and I observed my mind. She attempted to tether me to the bottom. I began to practice where my thoughts go and observed them as they would attempt to pull me into a cyclone. I would smile and gently point them to the sun and to the moon, to the beautiful friend or the patterns of the leaves. Like a flame from fresh tender, a spark of inspiration would ignite this curious joy in my heart. I learned to quickly focus on those thoughts and I would breathe life into those flames, allowing them to grow. At first, I would crouch and blow and get distracted by another thought. But then I learned to cup my hands and focus on these embers of dreams and I would carefully exhale life into them, watching the sparks dance in the night sky. I would intentionally expand a detail and place that tender into this flame and watch it grow a bit bigger… a bit warmer. I began to feel the warmth.

Days would come where I could not find the fire, but I would simply observe and know I would find it again. I would know where the surface was and I learned to see that deeper layer revealed not as a step backwards in my life… but a blessing. I was being taught compassion. I would gently turn my own head and point out a nice thought, igniting a spark of imagination and then rub my back with encouragement… I was being taught patience. I would celebrate waking alone, focus on the soft sheets and the warmth of my feet rubbing gently together. I was being taught unconditional love. I would caress my hair when I lay down at night alone and intentionally smile… I was teaching… I was observing... I was realizing that…

I wasn’t alone.

I danced with the voices in my head, but only allowed the helpful ones to lead. I accepted lonely thoughts and celebrated presence. My lungs, my wiggling toes. I wrote vows to myself. For it is this relationship with my own spirit and expression that I was tethered for life, intricately connected to all life.

Lines began to blur.

I hear the forest singing in my ears and the waves cresting in my chest. I felt my beloved breathe through me. I was not alone. I dove into the depths of the rich subconscious waters that brought nutrients to my surface, allowing me to shift into the light of my own truth. I would breathe. I would sit. I began to choose my words as I watched them leave my lips and cast spells upon my world. I would feel myself smile… “mind your spelling Brooke…. Mind your spelling.” I chased fewer thoughts. Like the dog that knows you are done playing fetch, she less enthusiastically approaches, lays down, chewing on the ball in case you want to play again. I am done playing fetch. I took rest between words. Time stretched. Light was filling my cells. I allowed myself to snuggle into my pillow. And still I tell him… “I love you”. I am good to my word. So, I became careful with my words and they became good to me. And fewer.

I felt larger.

Soon the details of the lady bug and the purple tipped grass came out to play. Curiosity tickled my nose as I find the freshly bake sourdough. Laughter bubbled up from those dark places I had thought I would drown before, shimmering gold refracting light. I memorized them, as they float in my imagination. I allowed myself to FEEL. I replayed hugs in my mind and held myself at night, curled around pillows and smiling. I was alone, but I was not alone. And I would wake to silence. My mind quiet… a better trained spaniel waiting for direction. Sitting patiently by the door. I pat her head. And guide her to the pillow where we will sit in our breath in front of the candle. I watch as I allow her to play but repeatedly call her back with humor. I pat her and love her each time she comes. I am watching from behind… as Brooke plays gentle fetch and trains her mind, nourishing her spirit. She has become disciplined and non -judgmental when she is not disciplined. Humor trickles up the spine as memories turn to comedy and the bug lumbers along, oblivious to the giggling giant.

I do not know where this paragraph goes, but I know to keep pressing the keys of creation and surrender to flow. I do not know if I will lie down with humor or joy or a longing for a hug… but I do know that I am good alone, because I discovered I can’t be. I learned how to teach and taught how to learn... and I sit... and laugh... at the comedy of it all.

So, here’s to being alone.

May “aloneness” be an opportunity to find your biggest supporter and the love of your life…

May this be that moment to dance with great spirit and hold your beloved…

That is, you.

...and then you are never living alone.