From March 19, 2016

The girl from the mountain has called and we have begun carefully putting the contents of our life here away. I packed up all my things strewn with intent around the house and we drove them to my parent's, the accumulation of the last five years fitting on the floor of a walk-in closet. I took my big thrifted emerald green travel backpack out of storage and packed up all I would need for the next three or four months, I should bring less clothing, but the promise of photoshoots in remote places has my imagination running wild.

I so long to flow effortlessly from destination to destination like the goddess women I encountered in Central America, but I feel rigid. A life of constant change and instability has my nervous system endlessly on guard. I now want nothing more than stability without compromising the perpetually unraveling scenery. I am counting on this journey, with our commitment to it there is promise that I'll be closer to these dreams that will not leave me, and at this point I cannot fathom abandoning them. I can already foresee what my life will look like in the coming years. My soul sister and I were sitting cliffside on a bench overlooking the glowing ocean and the San Juans yesterday as she breastfed her newborn daughter. She told me she believes that we already know what will come along our path, that it first comes through energetically, through feeling, then through the mind and finally manifests physically. She said that she felt her daughter before she was pregnant. I too have felt, years in advance, certain chapters of my life. And this one too, I feel, undeniably. I have no other choice but to charge ahead, my dreams are ideals, they are hints from an abyss that flashes in and out of focus. 

Vera M. Wilde

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