Midwife to my imagination. Over the last several weeks as I plunged into the messily creative midwifery of birthing “insight” – an idea in my head – into the world as a physical space for offering peer support in Newton, Kansas, I’ve mostly been moving books, games, musical instruments, art supplies, beautiful objects, colorful textiles and other possessions of meaning from my apartment upstairs. I feel as if I’ve been collecting these things for years in preparation for this exact venture.
How I ever fit them all in my 400 square foot apartment is a mystery. As my living quarters become steadily more spacious (in a good way), my writing and community connecting space in “the living room” down at street level is taking on a softer, sweeter energy.
New life for old things. Some items are being put into service for other than their original intended use – revised, revamped, reintended. I can look at these components of “the living room” and know the deeper context. While those who visit me may not have the same conscious awareness, I do believe there is some richer energetic and emotional texture carried forward that you will feel when you come here.
Several friends donated chairs and a love seat. My magical landlord – with whom I am ingeniously sharing this space – offered me a writing desk and shelves. These supportive and functional structures are, I believe, permeated with the love and generosity of the persons who freely shared them. You will feel that too, perhaps without knowing why.
Many of the beautiful and life-enriching books and objects on my shelves were first gifts of love to me from others or to me from my increasingly kind and loving self. I hope some of my friends and family will drop by here and feel their own thoughtfulness reflected to them, a wink out of the corner of love’s eye. I know I do.
Winner of the hope lottery. This venture is built almost entirely of imagination and love. Today I spent $6 for a used lamp and $7 on printing for a sign and some brochures. That’s it so far: $13 and a lot of vision and hope. I have an extraordinary amount of hope, although this has not always been so. I’ve hit the Hope Lottery (you can’t win if you don’t play) and I’m planning to share the wealth.
I’ve sat in every seat here and considered the vantage point. I’ve played ukulele here, danced here, meditated, sweated, laughed and cried. I’ve imagined and wondered. I’ve answered a calling to make my love available. I can’t explain why I cry when I write that.
Now I am eating a piece of Prairie Harvest carrot cake and drinking a cup of Wild Sweet Orange Tea on a cloudy afternoon, thinking of you as I write. Thinking of how, when you come to sit with me here, you will know all of this without knowing. Thinking of how, even if your heart is hurting, you might want to split a piece of carrot cake with me, sip a cup of tea and possibly notice something startlingly beautiful about your broken-openness. And I will stand witness.
I am one of the things in this space that has been revised, revamped and reintended. You won’t be able to imagine what I once was by knowing me now, but the alchemy of how I’ve transformed myself is part of what I offer here, peer to peer. And I don’t know how to put a price on that, but together we will figure it out.