The fortune teller – part I

Death and Roaming

deathcard

Oh misfortune! I saw a talented psychic tarot reader woman today. I know of her talent because I saw her last summer and the energies she sensed in my immediate future were eerily accurate. But, this time, she pulled the death card as my immediate future. Apparently, I have still a few months left to roam as a free spirit, following my heart’s every whim, then I get to New Hampshire, and BAM! I meet my equal partner and true love. It gets worse … That man will be grounded, a perfect container for me. He will inspire me to grow roots and make a home. There was even a card with a picture-perfect nuclear family on it. Aaaaaaaah! She said there will be some resistance on my part. Why, yes, I can see that there will be. But, that in the end, I will undergo a mental paradigm shift and see that this is what I need most as a soul for my next stage of evolution. She said I will look back on this time of my life, right now, with sweet nostalgia, but that, in the end, I will fall in love with this man, and there is nothing I can do about it.

What need would someone as committed as I am to following my heart’s guidance have to see a psychic tarot reader in the first place, you ask? Well, it all started with a quandary …

roaming12-13

Since I started roaming full time, back in October 2011, my path has followed a general pattern of big loops. I have just finished a loop and have been on stand-by at my friend Ana’s awaiting instructions. The instructions always come from my heart. This is how it usually works: An idea of a destination suddenly appears in my mind, much like a craving. The destination can be an actual place or a conceptual need, such as “mountains” or “sunshine”, or merely a direction, such as “east”. Next, come the giggles. The recurring realization that I can go anywhere, anytime, with or without a reason still tickles me happy, every single time. Next, come the fear and mental judgment of just how unreasonable my lifestyle is. Usually, the fear revolves around money. I never know ahead of time if I will find work. My budget is often just what I need to get to a next destination and no further. The last time I landed in Denver, I had less than $30 in my bank account. It can be unnerving.

You would think that after having a hot-air balloon land on me in the desert and offer me work, I would have faith in the process. You would be wrong. I have to wrestle with my ingrained old-world views and choose to trust blindly that everything will work out, every single time. On a rare few occasions I know what awaits me. In Denver, for example, I can always find a warm place at Laura’s and a fun job restoring historical windows with David. In most cases though, I have to take the first step on pure faith. The Universe sets nothing in motion until it knows I’m committed to the path.

The first few miles of a loop are always exhilarating. It’s like skydiving. I fill up the truck and we go. It’s just the two of us (the truck and me), the open road, unlimited time, unlimited space, unlimited opportunities, including that of breaking down and becoming one of those beggars with a cardboard sign that says “Need $$ for fuel, trying to get home” – wherever that is. On those days, my heart seems to radiate so much joy that it presses outwards on my rib-cage and blocks my throat slightly. Sometimes if my throat gets too constricted, the pressure gets released as tears of gratitude. I’m a happy smiley emotional weirdo for those first few miles.

Once I get over the initial rush, I can come back down to earth and enjoy my trip from a more grounded perspective. Different music, different landscapes and different encounters influence the emotions that course through my body. I get visited by sadness, self-doubt, fear, loneliness. I try not to judge them. Sometimes, I observe them like exotic animals at the zoo. What does loneliness feel like? I mean, physically in your body. Do you know? Other times, I track them back to their source, see what triggered them, and if I can uncover a pattern in my natural responses to the environment. It’s all very scientific. I enjoy the detective work, and it puts all those miles to good inner-work use. I have observed that although the “heavy” emotions are varied and complex, the “light” ones aren’t. There isn’t much difference for me between joy, happiness, love and gratitude in their non-rib-pushing normal forms. I find the feeling of bliss to be much closer to quiet, peaceful contentment than to some ecstatic jump-around exuberance. This state of quiet, peaceful love and gratitude seem to be the state to which I return when I am not processing heavy emotions. It is my default state when I roam.

It is in that energetic state of love and gratitude that good things are drawn to me as if by magic. The right people appear. The right opportunities open. Invitations to housesit and potential work find me. All I have to do is be open to receive them.

This is how it usually works, but this week, I cheated. Instead of waiting for my heart’s tug, I placed a demand to the Universe. I used Facebook as a vision board and asked for a quiet place to write. I asked for it in the woods, near mountains, with nearby walking trails, with some ice climbing, ethnic restaurants, and a few other necessities. In a way, it worked. I received four different genuine offers, all of which concurring to my criteria. But, now I must come clean … For weeks, I have been hearing the call of Appalachia. It speaks of New Hampshire. It says “go there via the south – New Mexico, Texas, Georgia, Florida, North Carolina and Virginia.” What would I do in New Hampshire? I would ice climb and write all winter then, come spring, I would fly to Georgia and walk back to my truck on the Appalachian Trail. My heart is ambitious like that. I showed it my bank account. Riiiiight. Not going to happen.

appalachia_main

I didn’t even get to the giggles with that plan. I said no, this time it is just not feasible. That’s $1500 just in fuel, and I’d have no time to write for weeks. The focus must be my book, or it’ll never get done. I want to stay home, right here in the Pacific Northwest. It would cost nothing in gas – I’m already here. I could go ice climbing a few times in B.C., and use the dreary weather as an incentive to write. When I posted to the Universe on Facebook, I worded my demands carefully to attract offers in the Pacific Northwest. But, the best offer I received was for a room with friends (ice climbers and hikers) right at the edge of the woods of the beautiful White Mountains of New Hampshire. That is why I went to see Michele. I hoped she would shed some light on the conflict between my heart and my brain. Instead, she threw a whole bottle of lighter fluid on the fire.

“If you feel no fear, the adventure is not epic enough.” (I’m paraphrasing)

This is just a crazy plan, and I would know. I’m the girl who quit a PhD to go become a yoga teacher in India by charging it on a credit card. I know when I’m about to do something insane by the standards of mainstream society. My heart is tugging, but the giggles and fear have hit at the same time. I not only fear for my financial safety, but for my life as I know it. If we assume Michele is right, this could be the death of the Roaming Bobcat. Grow roots, make a home … sounds a lot like gathering moss to me.

On the other hand, this is my chance … I always say that I wish my life was more epic. I envision this as climbing the hardest routes on the tallest mountains or kayaking solo across treacherous oceans, but it seems the Universe has a different kind of adventure in mind for me. “How blindly will you follow your heart?” it wants to know.

I don’t know myself. This is the post where I pose the quandary. Now we find out …

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One thought on “The fortune teller – part I

  1. Pingback: Did I even have a choice? | roamingbobcat

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