From March 19, 2016

The girl from the mountain has called and we have begun carefully putting the contents of our life here away. I packed up all my things strewn with intent around the house and we drove them to my parent's, the accumulation of the last five years fitting on the floor of a walk-in closet. I took my big thrifted emerald green travel backpack out of storage and packed up all I would need for the next three or four months, I should bring less clothing, but the promise of photoshoots in remote places has my imagination running wild.

I so long to flow effortlessly from destination to destination like the goddess women I encountered in Central America, but I feel rigid. A life of constant change and instability has my nervous system endlessly on guard. I now want nothing more than stability without compromising the perpetually unraveling scenery. I am counting on this journey, with our commitment to it there is promise that I'll be closer to these dreams that will not leave me, and at this point I cannot fathom abandoning them. I can already foresee what my life will look like in the coming years. My soul sister and I were sitting cliffside on a bench overlooking the glowing ocean and the San Juans yesterday as she breastfed her newborn daughter. She told me she believes that we already know what will come along our path, that it first comes through energetically, through feeling, then through the mind and finally manifests physically. She said that she felt her daughter before she was pregnant. I too have felt, years in advance, certain chapters of my life. And this one too, I feel, undeniably. I have no other choice but to charge ahead, my dreams are ideals, they are hints from an abyss that flashes in and out of focus. 

Vera M. Wilde

From February 19, 2016

Days have been slow and they have been beautiful. I left Hawaii and walked into a new life. B met me at the airport with a red rose in his hand and brought me to our home for the month, a wooden shack near the pacific north western ocean. The ground was covered in pillows and rose petals, candle flames gave life to the inanimate. We hung fabrics from the ceiling, covered the wooden walls with photographs of Yogananda and Anandamayi Ma and created three crystal grids on the plank above our mattress. We spent mornings doing sadhana in the meditation room of the main house and at night B read the Gita to me out loud, each breath visible in front of his lips as we pressed tightly into each other's grooves, basking in body heat under three layers of blankets.

January we packed our things and moved a little further south into a big house surrounded by towering pines, where we can hear eagles screaming at high noon and the train whistling into the night. I cleared out a portion of the sun room and began painting on wooden planks, listening to Joni Mitchell and Nancy Sinatra as the sun warmed my skin and heart. We are here now, awaiting word from a girl on a mountain. And when the call comes, we will pack our bags once more and nestle into another fleeting home, on new land, with new scents, new sounds, new energy. I wont settle for anything less or more than a life like this one.
Vera M. Wilde