Rhealand

I was 10 years old when I experienced one of the best years of my childhood. It wasn’t because of the gifts I received on my birthday or any amount of friends I made in school. This was the year we moved to Washington State.

I was always proud to say I was born in Seattle. The climate and demographic seemed so exotic compared to the Southwestern States we bounced between since I was two or three. And when my dad first suggested we move, there was no hesitation. All I imagined in my head was another adventure, a passion he did a good job of cultivating at that point. My father’s cardinal heart flew in every direction, and by then I had already attended 4 elementary schools and was no stranger to starting fresh. I think I liked feeling like a loner even then. I didn’t mind being the quiet mystery child, always new to the class and too shy to develop any real relationships before moving on to the next.

I spent a lot of time by myself as a kid. Mostly outside or playing with my extensive stuffed animal collection, I enjoyed my alone time. I’m not sure I ever recall feeling lonely playing by myself for hours in my room. Even when I did make friends, any indication of neediness annoyed me. When they came knocking on the door for the third day in a row, I’d hide quietly pretending not to be home, or not to hear them. Whatever allowed me the space I gravitated towards so much. Its not like I came from a big family either and could never be alone, my family is actually quite small. Solitude was in excess and yet I was always seeking it. Perfectly content in the company of my cozy companions or alone with my own imagination.

Turns out I had pretty bad lice when we moved from Texas so most of my stuffed playmates were bagged up, never to be seen again. However, I’m pretty sure I quickly forgot them, as it was there on the Farm where I found a love that filled every hole in my heart.

I loved afternoon walks on my own. I would set my sights on the horizon, knowing exactly what stood between it and me, at least for as far as I was heading. I’d hop over deep rows of potatoes until the earth was no longer turned and instead, overgrown with grasses as tall as me. I’d find a nice spot to fall backwards and their thick stalks seemed to only gently fold under me, as if cradling me in their arms. I’d sit in wonderment for a few minutes watching the grey clouds slowly crowd the blue sky, and popped up from my nest when cold raindrops hit my eyelids. I’d seek shelter in the nearby Giant Oak grove, always visible from the Big Red Barn in the distance who stood stoic and ever present, like a watchful eye from home.

Another amazing thing about that year was that the Lord of the Rings trilogy was at its height in popularity and we were in the absolute perfect setting for spin off make-believing and bringing our own chapters of Middle Earth to life. My brother and our new sister-mate knew every corners of the 5 acre Farm, designating landmarks as neighboring kingdoms, each day with its own plot and each of us with our own characters. I was always appointed as the beautiful princess with healing powers. I never liked that persona much. I wanted to pretend to be strong and fearless, although I guess that was pretty much the opposite of my outward personality. I was quiet and kind by nature, but also cunning and daring… at least in my mind.

I think back to those years all the time. And although the Farm has since been sold, and the fields developed, my heart still sits in the hollows of those Oaks, flowing with the creek at its feet under the bridge where I made a secret vow to the forget me not’s…

Turns out lice takes a pretty big toll on the honeymoon phase, so before we could start another school year my dad was proposing we pack back up in the van and head back to the closest thing to a home base we had. Texas.

I wasn’t sad, I was actually excited. Not because I wanted to leave, but because we were starting a new adventure. I also had a friend… the first one I ever wrote letters with. So maybe true friendship was actually starting to sound appealing, especially going into the exhilarating yet unsettling phase of middle school. I remember saying a special goodbye to the Sleeping Princess, a mountain range view from my bedroom window. Its profile shared a striking similarity to the curves of a woman’s face and torso, but not just any woman. She was destined to be queen.

As much as I continue to age, those memories are still the same. As if petrified in my mind. I use them often as an escape, my mind wonders back through the tilled rows of soil, towards the Oaks and river banks on the horizon, watching the great sky carry the great wings of eagles while humming a harmonious tune I franticly seeked the words to as soon as it fell upon my ears…

The Road goes ever on and on
Down from the door where it began.
Now far ahead the Road has gone,
And I must follow, if I can.
Pursuing it with eager feet,
Until it joins some larger way
Where many paths and errands meet.
And whither then? I cannot say.

The move back to Texas was the right one I suppose. I reunited with my friend and for the first time in my life, knew the same people for more than 1 school year. It felt like a normal childhood, which for me was bitter sweet. I missed the enchanting drive to school, up the windy roads tightly bordered by the wet and wild woods. The secret landmark I watched for with the fallen tree and dripping moss that was my daily indication that I wasn’t living in a dream. I had stories that no one could relate to, unique experiences no one understood except my father and brother. In many ways I still felt alone. And I liked it.

The only thing I never felt a compulsion to venture away from was E. The moment we met we were infatuated. Inseparable. I was drawn to him like a magnet and we never wanted to be apart. We quickly built a life together that was solid and sturdy. He bought a house, I got an office job. We found our dogs, our cats, maintained a glorious fish tank and lived very happily for a few years before E proposed. Now, that’s a story worthy of its entirely own post…

He was the first person to ever put a name to it. That dreamy distance in my eyes that was a sure-tell I wasn’t present. “Off in Rhealand?”, he playfully posed with a hint of impatience. It wasn’t the first time he affectionately labeled my inattentive tendencies that way, but one day the word struck me differently. A slow, creeping smile spread across my face long after he turned away and moved on with his train of thought. I lingered on that moment. The moment it was inwardly anointed with a name. The place I’d so long cherished escaping to in poetry and prose. Where my favorite music takes me on long drives with nothing to look at but the road and sky. The magical place I strive so desperately to pull into this world through paint and pencil and where I go when I’m quieting my thoughts and grounding with nature. Rhealand.

The apperceived egoism doesn’t bother me anymore. This is my place, where all my creativity is derived. Conceived on the road, in the woods, in ice-cold watering holes. Expanded by cultures, coast lines, encounters, personalities. Humbled by minimalism, tiny miracles, forgotten things. The simplicity and vastness of nature co-existing in a miraculous and malicious dimension. No stranger to pain or fear, every light casts a shadow, even here.

So here’s your special invite. All are welcome as no damage can be made. Bring your baggage and come out relieved. Come weary and soak your feet. Come sullen and cry with me. No strangers exist when we’re all strange so I think it’s about time to open these doors and expand the family.

I am not blessed,
I manifest.
Dreaming awake,
Clouds stir in the corners of my eyes,
And my thunderhead stops its quake.

I drink out of butter cups
And inhale baby’s breath.
Tears flow like a spring
As with the willow I wept.
Golden sunshine falls down,
Illuminating the trees.
Yellowing the valley like a faded memory.

You might see the flax, the lilacs,
The poppies in the hay,
But look a little closer and you’ll see so much more at play.
Glimmering sprites and fairies know the joy of every day.
If you slow down and listen, you might just hear them say…

“You’re not dreaming but you’re not awake.
Lay down your head,
Worries are far away.
Feel the ground beneath your cheek,
You’re the earth’s now,
this is what you seek.
A new babe, clad in dust.
Swaddled in vines,
While the other world rusts.”

Intoxication by inspiration,
I’m day drunk by the sun.
Sobered by the moon,
Here the only work is fun.

No time,
Only Hands and Faces .
Lackadaisical and aloof,
The only lines I stay between
Are the paths carved out by roots.
This reality has ripples,
Like a rock skipped in a dream pool.
We perform absinthe-minded rituals
With elemental tools.

Daybreak paints the sky
With blushing oils and pastels,
I come and go as I please,
There’s no such thing as a farewell.