Dispatch from the Front Range: 2.27.21
I wrote this poem in November of 2019 after I had just committed to move to Mexico for the next two and a half years. I was hungry for change, disappointed with the cards in my hand, and yearning for something I didn’t have. I wanted something mystical, something intangible, something romantic...something I couldn’t quite make happen.
I was longing for a nebulous savior like change or love (or a moose) to deliver me from myself. Instead, it seemed disappointment and rejection were the only ones greeting me.
I wrote these words in a time that now feels like a stranger. The moose was a symbol, an idea, a mascot for the life I was hungry (and even jealous) for. Waking up after a long depressive sleep the moose now is a laughable symbol–– a divine wink reminding me that life bends far past my mind’s eye.
How many moons later? And yet I am here. Here living in a prairie I never thought I’d call home, here holding a job I never thought I wanted, and here encountering kin in a way I could not have conceived.
The mother and calf in the video above were from a missed turn on a recent trip down the mountain. Had I taken my planned route, would I have known this moment? (Multiverse theory tells me yes, but more on that another time). I saw the moose as the medium and the message––the celestial courier telling me I can live the life I conjure. And so, here we are. Where are we going?
I dream this newsletter to be a container large enough to hold ideas, discourse, and space to grow. I’m writing this newsletter not as a blog or a personal update, but as a conversation greater than myself.
Comments