I'm at the beach sitting on the front porch of my Victorian home with a wraparound porch that grandma left to me. The couple of chai tea is warming up my soul for writing. I have been waiting all year for this moment to finally arrive. It has been such a busy year, with all of the normal dramas of daily life with the kids, friends and work. I finally get to just sit back with my cup of tea and no interruptions to write whenever I want to for two weeks of pure solitude.
Watching the seagulls from here just swoosh down to catch anything that moves which could possibly be a feast is such fun and it brings back memories of days long ago. Listening to the waves land upon the shore, reminds me why my soul longs for the coming home to the ocean. I often wonder why every so often and I can tell when, everything else must just stop. I have to get here; it really is the difference between existing and living. Smelling the salt air awakens atoms that have been dormant and reminds me of the child side that is calling out to be free.
Being outside the box, no real limitations except for the ones I choose to exist, is what this porch represents for me. When I step back to look at this porch I realize that the opening represents me easily moving out into the outer perimeters where there is no ending whenever I choose. That opening says I can step out into the vast flowing ocean into the depth of my soul anytime that I desire.