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My last days of home ownership are counting, and fear is beginning to get me a bit. What am I actually working on? Why did I do this again? Every minute I realize ‘last times’…
One evening I walk out the door into the forest. I find myself walking a path we used to walk quite often in the first few months of living in this area. And after discovering other roads, we rarely did anymore. Nostalgic feelings hit me. My throat gets dry and I feel the sensations of these emotions run through my body, thinking of these memories. What ìs that? That memories can totally take control over you? Although they have nothing to do with the present situation. The forest is just the forest. The path just the path. Nevertheless, the words ‘last time’ keep running through my mind. That makes this once nice walk very heavy. Why? Perhaps I’ll never walk in this forest again. But that doesn’t make it less beautiful right now? Strange, this compulsion behaviour of the mind.
Inside my home, I am also confronted with my doings. The ever-increasing echo tells me enough. It even gives me a shiver. I feel the search for… Yes, for what actually? The realization that I really want this, that I need this detachement (although I don’t know exactly why), brings me back. Feeling that it is okay. Finding the firmness in myself. Not in objects. Being homeless is a chosen path. Conscious and with full understanding. But therefore not less exciting or overwelming!
And there I stand. With a fully packed car parked behind me, in front of the door of my first temperarily home address. Armed with meditation cushion and moving-along-plant. A fresh new attachment, because a lìttle attachment cannot hurt, right?!