Restoration

I stayed in last night and missed out on something called "Helen Keller Erotica" which I'm hoping someone will explain later. I needed to restore. I was so very, very cranky yesterday. Maybe it was the weird guy who cornered me with apologies at the Slipper Room Tuesday night, or maybe it's the combination of having read Tarot for four hours in an environment that is naturally an assault on the senses (the burlesque club), and getting home late (although not TERRIBLY late) and having set an alarm for the wrong time, and hearing from a former lover who is still angry at me for my behavior at a party last April--but last night I was tapped out. I wanted to go home, cuddle a kitty and sleep for hours, but instead forced myself to walk past the turn off to my apartment and up to the Cloisters, where I always find solace.

The Hudson is beautiful, by the way, and how many more warm summer days will 2009 provide? Not that many. On a darker note, I thought about how if I ended up dying last night, I would have been angry with myself for not taking advantage of the beautiful weather and going up to the park.

There is a tunnel along the West Side Highway, that appears like an Atlantian temple, rising around the bend of the park like "out of the mists" or something. When you walk through the tunnel, it pulls negativity from you like rotten leaves from a gutter. I don't often go alone--for no matter how beautiful it is, it isn't safe, but yesterday, I did. I left some shite behind: Anger over the July break-up, anger at hearing from my former lover--only to find him being angry, too--, anger at being tired. I visited the cedar tree, my heart nearly stopping for a moment when it was obscured by other foliage. I thought it had been cut down. My favorite tree in the park was cut down last spring and it was a painful loss. This cedar tree, though, has been a sacred place for not only our Group, but for others as well. We've found offerings and paintings on its branches--the offerings are stupidly removed by the City, but we (and others) still leave them there, anyway. At Ostara, we plant eggs with our wishes for the next year painted on them at the base of this tree. Yesterday, I noticed a young plant growing directly out of the place where we buried those eggs, in March.

For those who scoff at the idea that nature spirits can thrive in the City, or that the Urban Jungle is no place for Earth worship would find a country foot in their mouths if they came to this little spot. Yes, a busy freeway roars just feet away, but you just don't really hear it. Yes, there is trash underfoot (which we collect every time we visit), but there are also sprites and spirits and things of a non-mortal nature poking their heads from behind trees, stumps, stone columns and garbage cans. When I was in Ireland, we walked through the forest and my teacher looked back at me and said, "Do you feel that?"

Here in New York, I supplied the same answer to the wind, as there was no one else there to respond: "Yes."

I left feeling refreshed and started thinking about all the cool things I want to do this fall. I'm excited.