Land of Oz

Oz has a familiar air to it; as if I am at home. And yet there are such differences. Some of the birds here make truly alarming sounds, like a small child being tortured. It is spring; the jackaranda trees have gone mad with purple, painting it everywhere and dripping it onto the streets. The story I heard was that the jackaranda are native to South America and were brought over. Later, an OB nurse fell in love with them and gave a baby tree to each of her new mothers. They are planted everywhere.

I walk for hours a day, downtown, to the Rocks, where the first settlers lived, to the opera house, to the botanical park. I have been on a short ferry ride cool ocean breeze licking my face and plan to take the longer, two hour ride around the harbor when I get back from this retreat.

But the thing that keeps sneaking up on me is joy. It jumps me as I am walking, trying to figure out which way the cars will be coming from, trying to figure out exactly where I might be going as I meander about. It is such a strong impulse, this joy, like a sudden buggle blow billowing out into the quiet, filling my mind. For so long I felt I had messed up my life in some serious ways, choices made that if only. . . Things might have been so different for my children, for me. Guilt and worry and what if's. This joy rips that to shreds. It shouts of the wonder of this moment, of the strength that evolved through all that I have experienced. It whispers of aspects of my self that would never have bloomed had I lived the life my mother painted; safely married to a devoted, wealthy husband who would tenderly care for me and our children. And I find myself laughing outloud, shaking my head and letting my imaginary long hair blow free (let's hear it for another bad, inch long hair all over my head haircut). I am well and truly alive. Fearful sometimes, lost sometimes but such adventure just here, just around the corner. It is a gift; the pearl from years of struggle. I live. I laugh. I learn. And I love it all.