movement is good
Posted on May 27th, 2008
by 
Innish
Innish
Well, it's official that we've given notice to move out of our cute little bungalow in Salt Lake City's Avenues neighborhood.
I'm going to Peru in mid-June for 50 days (to celebrate my 50 years), and my partner Julie is joining me on June 30th for the month of July, so it made sense to let it go.
Plus, we simply weren't willing to commit to another year in this house--Julie finds it a bit too close to the neighbor's house, which blocks out the morning light, her favorite--or this city, so we've decided to leave it open.
We're wide open as to where we'll end up. East coast, West coast, Hawaii, Europe, or--if we like it--South America. We'll worry about money later.
There's a certain levity in simply listening to your heart and letting it choose what feeds it and then challenging the mind figure out how to make it work. The mind is really good at that.
I'm leaning towards buying some acreage and starting an organic farm (small-scale) and orchard, where we will then open a weekend retreat healing center that will cater to the four bodies of each guest... the physical, mental, spiritual, and etheric. Julie is a wonderfully intuitive massage therapist, and we both are Reiki Okudens and are each trained in the Shamanic tradition. Ofuro baths--a Japanese tub where the soaker sits instead of laying down--are one of our favorites as well as an excellent way to release energy and ground oneself--would definitely be included. (I'm working on a design for one heated by wood stove.)
As would ceremony.
Believe it or not, living here in Salt Lake City was my first time living in a city neighborhood. I've always lived on the fringes or in more rural environments. While I love the ability to walk to coffee shops, grocery stores, and our favorite Ofuro bath spot (The Kura Door), I find it a bit too close for my taste. Our neighborhood is quiet and very peaceful--Thank You!--but there's something about being able to go out and pick some fresh fruit for breakfast, naked before god and man, or lie out in the back yard on a blanket with your sweetie watching the stars. I do miss that.
There's also something about being able to grow almost everything that you eat--at least seasonally--and knowing that it was planted, tended, and harvested with love and gratitude. I love that you can actually taste the sunshine stored in a fresh-picked apricot. And if love has a taste, I'm guessing it's something like a warm fig eaten on the ladder.
Access: Public
farm
August 2008 