The acceptance of things...

My mom was in this weekend, to prepare for settlement on her house (which happens today). She has keys, she has an address, and this afternoon she will have a home in Texas.

I am over it for the most part. I've gotten over the feeling of being swallowed whole. I've accepted that they are on their way. I've also accepted that there are things in life that you may not think you want, but apparently need to experience for reasons you won't understand a minute before you are supposed to. The anguish comes in fighting the tide. Most of all I've learned that it can never be all about you. There are lessons that time provides, we just despise having to have the patience to experience them.

While we were in the house, I went through each room by myself, touching the walls, getting a sense for the room. And this is going to sound odd but, I went into the bathroom, closed the door and shut off the lights for a few moments. It's just something I do before I move into new space, to get a feel for it's history. I don't make a production of it, I try to go unnoticed, but the realtor caught me to my embarrassment and pulled me aside later.

"What do you think of the house?"

I told her I liked it for them. The house had good energy, I could tell that a kind person lived here. An older person, who lived by herself and had passed away not long ago. The realtor looked at me and she says, "How did you know that?"

I told her I could feel it. That she was a very kind woman, she had a peaceful happy life. There was a calm in the place, a quiet serenity that was very welcoming. The realtor then goes, "what were you doing in the bathroom?"

I looked at her and we both chuckled. I've known her since I moved into my own place a ways back. We've had surface level understanding, chatty conversations about politics and living in Austin. Nothing much deeper. I didn't answer her directly and finally she goes, "you're pyschic."

I laughed. I think, in fact, I might have snorted. That word carries with it immediate baggage. Sort of like, divorced, or handicapped or monster. There are all sorts of predisposed notions that are handed over once any word in this group is uttered, and I don't like predisposed notions. I replied that I was intuitive, yes. That I use my perception many times to tell me what my eyes or the "edited" story may not. I use it to read between the lines. To fill in the blanks. I don't have any ability to forecast the weather or predict winning lottery numbers...but I can sense what's happening in a space, and I can pick up more from people then just what tumbles from their lips. I see paths, sometimes that make no sense at all...until they happen. Don't we all have this capability to some degree? How much we benefit from it largely depends on how much we get in our own way of accessing it. So, does that make me crazy? *cues Gnarls Barkley*

When we were driving back from Cedar Park and furniture stores, I had two instances where I was beseiged by a butterfly. One fluttered around me curiously in front of IHOP, dancing near my face before moving on after about ten seconds. The second one, later in the afternoon, hitched a ride to my windshield and drove with me for about a quarter of a mile. Sometimes I have a series of things that seem to occur with a message attached. I hear things. I observe things. Things are suggested silently to me, in a variety of ways. I don't know what any of that means...

but I accept that, too.

The hardest part in all of this, this acceptance of things...is knowing what you know, having no proof or explanation or logical reasons mapped out to justify a bit of it. Sitting on a nest of things, wondering how they will hatch and hoping no one comes by to ask you what the fuck you think you're doing.  Or better still, resisting the urge to tamper with life in order orchestrate what you want in lieu of trusting that somethings truly are just not in your hands to control.

Sometimes when you think you're lost, and nothing is happening as you planned it...you have to acknowledge that you might be steering just a little bit too hard. Sometimes you have to drift, and trust...and know there is a sense to every little thing happening. Every little thing. And it can be good, if you allow it.