Now it is a changed land. Change happened within and outside me. I still feel as though it was something that happened to me even though it was mine to deliver the final blow. The dearly held, imaginary future blown up, blown open.
This week I saw an exhibition as the Heide museum of art about the folks who started it. It was a self sufficient life in a time of great depression rationing. They grew food and fed art with it and thoughts. Sunday Reed, the lady of the house had a decade long public affair with Sidney Nolan before he asked her to leave the place and her husband and be with him alone. She opted to stay. The story resonated strongly with me both because the lifestyle so closely resembles that which I was dreaming of building with my now ex; and because she stayed. The home, the calling, the everyday meant more to her than the most consuming love. And I'm sure she still loved her husband too.
Most of the things I've sacrificed are the imaginary ones the ones that hadn't happened yet. the unborn.
so now there is a field before me where before I'd built a treehouse. I am feeling out the paths and seeing what new seeds have sprung up. I'm still building now and working now and loving now I just can't visualize the future the way I could so recently: so clearly.
I have reduced my life goals to two sentences but they are very long sentences for which i needed to draw mind maps.