Las Mariposas

I'm finding this off shift that the better I am at my job, the harder it is to really leave work in the field. This past shift I was so much more successful at making connections and building rapport with the girls (and other staff, for that matter), and fortunately/unfortunately I am struggling a bit to disengage.

Lately while meditating, I've been imagining my thoughts as swarms of butterflies, flitting around my face distracting me from my real work. Every time I catch myself thinking, I imagine the butterflies and envision them flying out the window on a command updraft, then return to my breathing and the task at hand. Every time I've noticed myself thinking about the girls lately, I force myself to push the butterflies back out the window--sort of a waking reminder, an ebbing and retreat of the tide.

It's sunny, blue, and cold again today, with just a hint of Wednesday's snow dusting still lingering on the hills and canyons outside of town. I am musing at the Steaming Bean, watching cowboys in Chuck Taylors' stroll by, and doing my damnedest not to think about anything significant. I am indulging in my first cup of coffee in maybe a month, which is only stoking my apprehension for winter's coming, the end of my apprenticeship, and a bit of homesickness for the rain forest and that past northern existence. It smells like pine suddenly today, and tourists in sunglasses and shirt sleeves seem strictly absurd.

I'm chaffing a bit at my lack of routine, I think. My stomach is a bit unsettled, that nervous energy that usually goes with riding a bus in a new and unfamiliar city with no knowledge of either where I'm going or the cultural custom required to exit the vehicle. Its a bit disheartening to be skating on the surface of this town. I want so badly to break through, to make some connection to something or someone that will hold fast to me here. The rest is a bit, well, lonely. Except that I dont do lonely, really. I feel no loss for people, only places and ties and that fleeing sense of acceptance and belonging that I both love and loath.

It is somewhat of that same battle that I fought all of last year while working weekends for College Outdoors. I love the visceral feelings in my body while working, how complete and present I feel in the woods. For whatever reaon I am still feeling that hard to hold on to in real city inside life. I'm closer to integrating both mes than ever before, but the process of doing so is quite alienating and discombobulating. While walking in concrete I am at a monumental loss for words.

I feel tightness in my stomach and stress in my shoulderblades. My stomach and legs feel itchy and scaley. I am warm, and my left foot is trying to go to sleep on me. Mentally I feel lubricated, like there is so much more that must be said, yet no words to express. Emotionally I feel a bit wistful. I have some anxiety and some longing that is making me want to clench my fists and paste my eyes shut tight. My soul is elsewhere, sitting on some highup overlook dreaming of water and clear skies.