I left. I practised leaving for two days. I dealt with the mountain of things. I wore my hiking boots to the corner store. I drove the walking cart around the block. And then I left for real. I wasn't ready but are you ever? I don't think I've ever been ready to leave but I haven't ever been ready to stay either. Being inbetween always.
I walked through Amsterdam. Like I have done so many times. But I saw it with different eyes. I never realised how many edible wild greens there are in the Vondelpark. I walked through the P.C. Hooftstaat, smiling. Amsterdam's most fancy shopping street, glitter and gold. The jet set buys their outfits here. I carried my house behind me along the sidewalk.
I wondered what on earth I was doing. Again. And then there was this smell. I suddenly felt at ease, I felt it all made sense. Freshly cut grass. The smell of spring.
Amsterdam. Lovely city. You only really realise the value of things when you let them go.
I walked to the outskirts of the city. I ate the cookies a friend baked for me. I felt the first blister. I walked on. I picked sheperds purse and ate the seeds. I found a campsite next to a highway. It almost sounded like the ocean.
First night in my tiny tent. The coffin, as my friends call it. It is cold outside. But the sky is clear. I can see the moon. I can smell the trees.
I' m tired. No highway will keep me awake. Sleep.
"Great things always begin with sleep. Great things always begin by the thinnest edge."
(Christian Bobin, The Very Lowly)