Half-way Houses

We are still here ... less frequently stringing stories together, we are none the less here in the town of Langley on Whidbey Island.  Bone-weary for the past several days, the tiny comfort of the vardo with its warm space, dry against the soggy wet have been a refuge.  Twenty steps from the wheelie home porch, the outdoor composting toilet is a luxury many would wonder about ... until of course, you have been without such a facility and sought that service in a public space.  Pete has raised the sides of the outdoor kitchen so we are now a family with cathedral ceilings made from aluminum framing and old plastic tarps.  A toteable carbon filtration system filters the hard water that we use from a hose that traverses the duck yard to our camp spot.  An ingenious ridging has food grade plastic tubing available for washing our clothes, dishes and hands.

I know this life we live seems nighmarish to some who come to read about it.  Among the challenges that have been our reality we have moved seven times in two years and financially, a social security check is the one regular form of incoming resource we have.  Yet, with the parcel of minutes left to craft a short post, there is room for patient and hopeful dreams even now.  Pencilled onto composition pads are the dreams of a half-way house, a stabilizing version of our cathedral ceiling kitchen and privy.  We are parked and renting the vardo space from two kind-hearted women who we did not know three weeks ago.  With each experience with them, we are encouraged to believe we can dream of a home that is our half-way house:  shelter that is as safe as we know how to build and maintain it living with people who are willing to learn what it takes to create life upon a foundation of chem-free and fragrance-free as possible.  Details are future issues, dreams come from a recipe of acceptance and illusion (the scent of something yet to be).

When we prepare for sleep at night we tell each other stories of things we have done, things we have loved doing, places and people who have filled our lives with joy.  It softens our drift into the world of dreamtime, and gets us at least half-way to the place of Grace where all possibility is fueled with surrender, first.

Mokihana