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Shedding My Skin Of Things


Unbound by the limitations of a physical existence.

This week, my family home has been a revolving door for contractors of all kinds; painters, gardeners, carpenters, dog owners dropping off their puppies for my spontaneous pet-day-care-business... and living in this chaos, I have noticed a level of peace within my family unseen in a long time.

After a decade of having this Boston triplex as a home base, we are packing up for the opposite coast of the Country. This is my step-dad's 12th move, my mom's 11th, and my 25th.

My brother moved out to CA right after college, and with the rest of my blood line sprinkled all over the globe since I can remember, it seems strange that a few of us might coincide in the same geographical location for a change.

I wonder what this will be like.

Clearly, there is no predicting anything. My OCD (obsessively candid delight) of a mother, and my meticulously particular engineer step dad, have turned into the chillest people on the planet. I should clarify that they are both people of elastic mindsets, and relaxed when it comes to most things, but their home, has always been orchestrated in very particular ways.

This spanish-israeli-american museum is a cultural experience from the moment you pass the baroque mezuzah on the entrance's frame. Leave the door ajar as the stoa's ficus shimmers in the sunlight, and you will be seamlessly engulfed by this home's earthy feel. Enjoy the sensation of the silken bamboo floors beneath the soles of your feet, as you let your shoes blend into the rugged runner underneath a new-age take of a victorian pulpit.

Gliding through the parlor you will ease into your breath, contained by the sensual arches of colonial carvings leading you from space to space. A feeling of invigoration might glisten on your skin, along with the luminous emergence from the ample windows lining the shoji white walls.

Perhaps the most American home, is this fusion of North, Central and South, with it's appropriate European influences. From Gustav Klimt's Kiss, to hand crafted papier mache emblems from Peru. Terracota tinted blue Ceramics from Oaxaca, Nicaraguan textiles, and Gaudí mosaic representations, all contribute to this active and ever growing appreciation for the visual and creative arts.

While at first glance, the overall feel is minimalistic, shift your focus to the Juniperus Cedar atheneum, consciously foraged from the botanical conservations of Virginia, by local community artisans. Each piece of literature here was lovingly collected over the years, Cortazar and Borges essentials casually cozied up to Miss Plath, Hemingway, Poe, Whitman, Twain, all and any wonders you wish to connect with, in several languages, from source to outliers, abstract poetry to scientific research, and everything in between. Of course Moon-vines and Philodendrons accompany these masters, strategically located accordingly throughout the space.

As you continue the exploration of this multi-cultural environment in your mind, you might imagine the rest of the ambiance as it has been fine tuned for over 10 years, now a few weeks before our official open house, the scene is well.. slightly overturned.

Bring to your occipital cortex the image of an anti-gravitational space-training capsule. Paintings and frames floating at strange angles, tangled amongst the bubble-wrap trails and eco-blend packing paper. A detonation of prismatic textures and teasing trails of everything, from a bourbon glass hanging from a shoelace levitating over a toaster, to a spiral dancing sequence of a stapler, an avocado, sunglasses, and a paintbrush.

Can your amygdala perceive the consistency of recycled brown boxes as dust dribbles soaring in the air? PVC and Ductape connecting the 3 floors, of this once conscientiously balanced sculpture, of collectible zen-pebbles. It is apparent that change is in order, and that we all need it.

I believe this chaos has sprung amongst us peace, because we have no choice but to completely give into the lack of control. There is no retreating to our personal spaces, we are all exiled from our rooms as paint coats layer up upon our memories, and our usual routines are interrupted, forcing us to interact in completely different ways.

Just when I thought my detachment lessons were settling in, I am reminded... there is always some more letting go worth doing.

I realize now, although I feel at home anywhere in nature, I was definitely linked to this house in emotional ways I had never felt for a terrestrial location before. JP, this neighborhood, the incredible parks and floor-graffiti-stencil-art around it; I have left and come back through the doors of this house, as completely different people, year after year. I will never forget the adjustments from backpack-living to luxury city full-comfort existence.

Yet as I peel off posters and pictures from my walls, I remember that feeling at home is experiencing those special places we retreat to when we want to ground ourselves, you know, your favorite rock on a lake, a people-watching bench in the city, the Forest Hills Cemetery Park in my case. I have gotten chased out of that place more times than anyone should get away with, but it is my back yard! and climbing closer to the moon, to jump those gates, so I can walk through the woods, reminds me of my high-school self, and makes me feel fuzzy inside. That combination of innocence and rebellion brings me back to a headspace of anything is possible, where I was not yet defined as a person. It is a hopeful unknown-future sensation, unlike the sometimes terrifying unpredictable path I am taking as an "adult" but as a friend reminded me yesterday, time is a social construction, so that we can measure our efficiency and lack there of.

Of course aging happens, and time does show when our shoes get shredded and our crowfeet shine by our eyeballs.

Yet I believe this collection of moments, and miles of minutes, mean that we always carry our homes in our hard-drives. Just as smells transport us to a detailed instant, finding some type of familiarity feeds our centering compass. My night walks through the cemetery forest bring back that homey childish sensation of adventure, and I know once I find some nature that calls me in Pasadena, I will be right back in my balanced pile of zen pebbles.

This is why letting go of the molecularly made things is useful, I am rediscovering my interpretation of the world, again and again, unbound by the limitations of physical and tangible existence.

Even thought I have always been efficient at shedding my skin of things, I was under this erroneous assumption that places make memories, but really the mind makes memories, and locations and objects are simply what triggers them. Now if we use our senses to set the recollection in motion, we can teleport back to those feelings of belonging, no matter where we are.

With this outlook, we no longer need to keep the house, instead we can find anything which reminds us of the sensations of being at home, and teleport right back, or better yet, drag it into our present. Even if this happens to be another physical space, such as a new backyard staged similar to the last, we now know that regardless of it's permanence, the emotion is transferable, and infinite.

This week, my heart has also been a bit of a revolving door. I reconnected with a human I had not seen in 2 years, I also linked up with some new creative souls whom reminded me of my priorities. And as these people spun my arteries around I recognized the importance of the daily practice it takes, to fully let go.

Somedays I feel so grounded that trees confuse my toes with budding roots, and others I'm adrift swirling amongst the lilac petals, and when mother earth takes a deep breath, I am exhaled onto some type of surface, where I remember it takes a daily mindful practice to reprogram our vibration, so no matter where we are in our physical location, the sensation is always whole, its always home.

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