Saturday, September 26, 2015

Oaxaca // Following through

The wild night sky out my window facing the city.

Saturday, September 26th // 2015

The sliding of days into the past, like taking a sip of water until you find the glass empty, have overtaken my thoughts this morning. Today and tomorrow. That's all I have left here in this space, this small slice of found moments that I have put myself in the past fortnight plus seven.

Urgency, though, hasn't found me here. The tranquility of this breeze hitting my face every morning, allowing me to write freely, has afforded no trace of urgency. Authors will tell you that any time the words find you that they must be written. This is truth. They have found me every day as the sun rises to its zenith and the afternoon sear settles over the land calling for a quiet rest. I move from my window at that time and sit on the bed and finish for the day until it's time for the afternoon comida. I've not found the words in the evening, or even at night. It seems I need to rest my brain and recoup for the next day. A cyclical rhythm, if you will.

Cacao beans and nancha.

As of today, 11:01 A.M. on 9/26/15, forty-three thousand eight-hundred ninety-five words fell from my fingertips, as blood from a wound flows. I will write today and tomorrow, before I roll up my belongings and pack them tightly into a suitcase. I will board a plane Monday morning, the words safely in the cloud (and various other places) and I will fly home to the waiting arms of my beloved. How I've missed him.

My writing space at Arquetopia.

Making this trek alone has been the best choice I've ever been compelled into. It's allowed me to find in myself the 'knowing' that comes from starting and doing and nearly completing. I consider the book three quarters of the way done, though if more words find me I won't stop writing them. I've learned much about myself and what I'm capable of. Stepping away from life, a wonderful and fulfilling life, is imperative to success. It was never my choice to come - it was a propelling, a pushing out, a step-out-to-the-edge-moment for me. It was written before I knew it, and it was God-driven from the start. I only allowed myself to listen.

Zaachila mercado

So today I will write. I will allow this breeze in the verdant terrain just north of Oaxaca City to pull more out of me, and tomorrow as well. I will squeeze it for all it's worth, then I will complete what cannot be stopped at home. But where is home? I believe I will leave a part of myself here, the place where I met part of my other half - the little boy he left behind.