Space

Space to breathe and space to appreciate. Room to remember more and get back to that bigger picture—get away from the compare and contrast energies, the power-tripper at work, the ill intentions hidden behind your own everything-happens-for-a-reason beliefs, and all the tiny little distractions, need-to-do’s, and tasks that could tangle up, mangle up, and destroy love.

There are so many beautifully healed, constantly self-reflecting and evolving genuine loves, but there are still some strange hearts. Strange hearts that thrive on gossip, thrive by swaying, manipulating, stressing, and using fear tactics to keep genuine hearts small and under control. Why? What is their motive? Often money. Usually money. Other times envy. But aren’t these questions they should be asking themselves? Why are these types always judging and trying to control/keep small others when they should be looking at themselves?

“Fuck should! Isn’t that something you wrote one time, Melissa?”

I could see them rebutting in this way, sarcastically mocking in their own heads another, all while wearing a plastic smile and knowing a trigger from a near-death situation that they could pull out on a person to make them feel small.

Except they can’t. Not me, and that’s because I heal. I heal because I self-reflect and because I know its power, and I genuinely love because I genuinely love myself. I’m not sure why genuinely loving people tend to lose in the game of social status and financial means, but to a point, none of that matters anyway as I follow my cat and my instincts to the woods, on an adventure for space and need for something more.

Outside, beyond the boundaries of Brattleboro—an incredible town with increasingly aligned and lovingly strong ties—I break free, not from love, but from the mangled energy that persistently tries to weave.

On the winding river roads with the warmth shining in through the sunroof, my cat meows, but not out of fear or worry. She’s curious, wondering where we’re going. In this new universe where her mom is safely grounded and seen in all her brilliance, every car ride is fun. The green from all around guides us gracefully, a kingdom that once called for me years ago, unsure if I’d make it—if me and my cat would make it—but now, it’s all peace and gratitude. The mountains comb me in, effortlessly healing my heart as they lead us up into a hidden paradise—a spiritual playground ripe with healing tools.

Where do I begin? I can’t tell you everything because that would take too long, and most of it only makes sense to me. Me and Scrat. Scrat knows everything. Scrat and I knew each other before we were born. She arrived on the planet after me, but at the exact right time. Everything was scary and horrible before she was born. Interestingly enough, everything was pretty strange in the woods without her a few years ago too, back in Rhode Island when I stumbled upon several small abandoned shacks, deep in the woods, where supernatural things started to happen.

A tripod appeared. It blinked into existence, all set up on three legs in the middle of the path behind me. I felt fear for a second, but then it quickly went away as I realized it was a gift. Just a tool to help steady my camera. Nothing to be feared. But that summer alone in the woods in Rhode Island, and Scrat in the old apartment alone too, neither of us were at home.

She and I flash forward together and skip all the trauma to find ourselves today in our home-woods in Vermont by a lake with similarly abandoned houses. All run-down, but sweet with little porches along a grassy path, pulling forward the magical gifts—the supernatural that never really scared me. It never has my whole life.

After a while of lying there, tucked in the trees, nestled within the harmless ground-ivy, I scoop up my cat from the log behind me to continue on into the woods. It’s my turn to lead. The trust is mutual.

For a while, the path is fairly smooth, bumpy with gravel, but not so bad for the cat-carriage if I go slow. Scrat looks around so alert, excited, and proper. She sits with her front legs perfectly straight and her paws puffed together. Sometimes I walk beside her instead of behind the carriage, one hand on the handle, just to get a look at her—to see her bright green eyes, always made greener in nature, look up at me. The trail is wide and reminds me a little of a trail I used to ride with my horse, but that memory fades out fast, because it never could compare. It’s not even a compare debate. Walking beside Scrat, I blink my eyes, remembering the last few walks with my horse where I opted not to ride, but to walk him, like a dog—to walk him like an animal I respected and wanted to see eye to eye. He and I were both afraid. Neither of us wanted to admit it, so we took the walks for what they were and loved each other as much as we could.

I keep the better memories from that, like the time I got off him to walk through a brook first so he wouldn’t be afraid. Scrat knows I’m healing. She prefers this gentle kind away from people.

A ways further up, a path leads us off the main gravel path to the left, as often happens. And as often happens as well, there is only more beauty and healing and discovery to be found. Directions never meant anything. The intuitive compass operates differently. The short grassy path spills open to a fern-framed field, freshly manicured and green, reminding me of the open-field home I had up Burke Road in Wallace, Idaho, except the grass wasn’t nearly as green. Scrat’s tail whips excitedly as we both gaze on in wonder, healing simultaneously as one of our most free and wild homes glistens anew in all its natural glory, but without all the human games, trauma play, and financial survival bullshit. Around my neck, I still wear the camouflage landyard that that guy gave to me as I traded a painted rock and one of my wooden blocks from Buffalo. His name was Guy. I couldn’t remember until just now. He showed up on a quad with his dog, and he left on a quad with his dog. A similarly down-to-earth, soul-animal-matched person. Scrat and I both beam in gratitude for the thoughtfulness of Vermont woods: its magic and mystery in knowing exactly what we need.

For the next mile or so, back on the main path, the trail remains fairly smooth with the lake squinting and blinking open to us through the trees, but around the bend on the other side, everything changes. All roots. Nothing but skinny up-and-down, snakey paths and exposed roots. I could turn back, but I always want to know what’s further. What’s a loop trail without exploring the whole loop? With Scrat cozy in her carriage, sprawled out and relaxed, I lock my arms into place (I’ve done this before), one arm bent inside holding the handle and the other underneath securely gripping the metal frame. I hoist her and the carriage up, continuing the hike, trusting, thinking, not so sure how long the rooty rough part will last, but trekking on anyway.

I take several breaks, always to peek inside and make sure Scrat is happy. When she’s at ease, I’m at ease. I have muscle for many reasons. As I carry her, my heart fills because she is the main reason.

On a break beside the lake—an opening too beautiful to pass up—I anchor the carriage beside a tree in the shade, gifting Scrat a moment of stillness and a view as I splash water on my face and play with the dragonflies. I haven’t sat with dragonflies in . . . a few days. That’s nice to be able to say. Nature is a regular part of my life, despite the full-time job. I don’t have reason to complain. All the stresses that could have kept me up last night but didn’t, and all the negativity that never ruins my day are all completely gone in the heavenly atmosphere of the open water, guarded by the corner mountain. Two dragonflies zip around and fly together. I saw them on the other side too. They lap water and dip together.

Returning up the bank to the main trail, I carry the carriage for at least another two miles. This half of the loop is much longer than the other half, and all rough terrain. A couple with a dog pass by in the other direction, commenting on what a workout I’m getting. They are nice people. The man seems to be relating, surprised by how rough the trail got too, and the woman is lighter and sweet, together making the perfect cup of coffee. I love when my thoughts blend effortlessly like this, all on the wave of down-to-earth and genuine. There is nothing disruptive or stressful to filter out in this frequency. Everything makes sense as I feel my soul muscle truly integrate into my body through the workout I never intended today, and as I write these words, integrating the words from my last blog about the humble gas station people—the ones who offer the humbly-priced coffee with all the ingredients to make the perfect cup. Time also doesn’t exist as I am both on the trail carrying Scrat in the carriage and lying in bed writing these words. I could go on and on. Life is one giant, interwoven, fluid and fabulous mystery.

A thunder cloud booms, and suddenly I am back on the trail hurrying with Scrat, a little shaky in the legs, but nothing I can’t handle. Most physical things can be overcome by mental strength and heart. I’ve noticed. With forming plans on how to keep my phone dry and Scrat as comfortable as possible, I switch sides to give my arms a break. I move fast, but also nimbly to keep the carriage bed as level as possible, and just when the thought of “Is this trail over yet?” leaves my mind, there it is: the magnificent opening out of the trees and across the bridge-covered dam to the parking lot.

We snuggle up into the car—the car has never felt so good—and as we settle in, turn on the lights, and switch into drive, the rain comes down. It’s perfect timing. Divine timing. These raindrops don’t make me feel sad. They don’t make me think of snail trails or tears or any of that old, glazed-over-by-trauma, glazed-over-by-foreseen-knowing-of-future-horror crap of the past. They make me feel elated and in love. Scrat too. We know home now. We were always aliens living in wrong universes. Now, we’re in the right one. And because of all this, I have all the space I need to appreciate and breathe.