rabbit poop

Countdown-- 8 days till she leaves for college...

Ok, I know this leaving home thing is what the young have done since time immemorial -- walking off into the wilderness in search of new frontiers, mates, food…and college; I know it is as natural as the seeds of the dandelion puff balls of late summer being blown by an evening wind to the next yard, and the next, and into the dusky beyond. But knowing that sure don't make it easy...

Kalei has yearned to get away from this island since 8th grade, and has long thought California the promised land. She became happier, maturing so much in this past year, even more so in recent months. Was it sensing freedom within reach? the realities of leaving sinking in? or did her parents mature and become more secure? For whatever reasons, as my daughter moves on and out into the world, she has been able to do so kindly and lovingly, without the classic need to "soil the nest" which we experienced when my son moved out at this same age. She has moments of devolving into a 6-year old, but for the most part these days are graceful and we are grateful.

Kalei promised me that when she left home she would buy me a rabbit. Today, however, I am not sure a rabbit is the answer to my...what? a clichéd, reductionist "empty nest syndrome”? So far, this syndrome turns out to feel not so much like an empty space that needs filling; in fact, right now I do not want to fill it with anything, I want nothing to distract me from this passage, this passing, and yes, the pain of it. How it feels to me right now is this: as she pulls herself up by the roots, I am coming unearthed; a tumultuous movement of solid ground within me leaves me unsettled, on edge, and certainly not the same. It is hard to know what new seeds to sew; is this soil now barren or fertile, I cannot help but wonder as another hot flash washes in. Is it a coincidence that they remind me of (mild) labor contractions?--a wave that rises up, takes over the body, and then wanes in the course of a few minutes.

I had a flying dream a few weeks ago. It is a rare occurrence, perhaps once every few years, but when it happens it is so real, I am convinced that, in some dimension, I can fly. And it usually means I am moving to a new level. I am not sure what that level is, but I know I will be looking for new things to plow into this soil to keep it rich and loamy. Right now I’m not sure what or how-- I will need to find out, but just don’t rush me, right now I am sad and unsettled, suspended in this netherworld of almost but not quite there. Perhaps the answer is rabbit poop… perhaps not.