I am resending this. At the time, I was too terrified to show an image of the house on my blog. Symbolic of so much, I feel. A great deal has changed since then…
I have found a house I love – and have viewed it with my son. He, too, was impressed. Next week, we will go back for a longer visit and will take son’s young lady as well.
This house is about forty minutes from where I live now, so I would still be in the South West of England (as I have been ever since August 1981), just in a slightly different slice of it.
I do not want to give too many details away as yet because it may all fall through – but both the area and the house appeal to me greatly, and the great thing about both is that those dear to me where I live now (and loved ones further afield) would be able to drive over and see me (and I them) with relative ease.
I think when one gets divorced, it is so important to start afresh, painful wrench though that may be. I have resisted, have made all the usual excuses about wanting to stay where I am because of A,B,C,D and E – all perfectly valid reasons, but…
…if I stay here, it will be counter-productive, I fear. The self I have been in this, admittedly lovely, place is a woman constrained, an emotional captive, a fearful person, a lady unwilling to take risks. That self has become imprinted upon the very walls and open spaces of my community.
There are people here I do not want to leave. Even the thought makes me cry. But, I know I need to move away. Not run away. No. This is very different. This will be a conscious, adult decision to start again, to honour the next phase with a change of environment, of dwelling place. It is not far away. But it is far enough, if you understand what I mean.
This is a leap of faith. It is a gesture of trust. Faith and trust in myself predominantly: Trust that I have made the right decisions all along, and faith that I can survive after divorce. But also trust in my closest friends. Faith that those I love – whether related by blood or the bonds of the spirit and heart – will see the miles between us as irrelevant.
I hope that my next abode (whether it be this one, or one as yet unseen) will become a centre of warmth and liveliness, of love, of visitations, of parties and musical events, of rituals and riotous laughter, of healing and happiness. I hope that all my best people (and those I have yet to meet) will feel welcome, wanted, soothed, nurtured, inspired by their visits to me – and that I, so afraid for so long, will take on the country’s motorways with ease, driving to see friends all over the UK.
I am breaking the fragile chains of my life. But the stronger, more enduring ones will remain in place – and they are not dependent upon a precise geographical location.
Love does not count the distance. Love remains. Love does not scorn the choice of place. Love sees the bigger picture and rejoices in the liberation of spirit.
I look forward! With trepidation, it is true. With anxiety. But with hope and joy too. I loo forward! And that little house, like the previous one (which, ironically, would have been a poisoned chalice had I bought it), is a symbol of something far more profound than an actual bricks-and-mortar abode.
It is the depth of the heart-soul connection that matters, not the physical distance. For thirty years and more I have remained tethered to specific locations, terrified of losing a spirit-connection which was never truly there is the first place!
Feeling the sweet tug of true bonds, I know now that the miles are irrelevant.
Update: Reader, I bought it and moved in on December 20th 2016! My instincts – and those of my son – were spot on. I love this home, love being in Glastonbury – and the miles of geographical distance have not been a bar to true soul-friends.