Sunday, September 04, 2016
The mystery of Apifera begins
I am beginning to return to the living, versus seeing faces of the past. The move was tumultuous to me, I underestimated its impact. I even have had anger and I wasn't sure exactly what I was angry about. I realized over time that I had suffered the loss of one dream, and also suffered the loss of something Martyn and I built together-the place we called Apifera. I thought Apifera would simply come with us to Maine, as it was, and we would start where we left off. But the old farm is not Apifera anymore, it will never exist the way it did when we lived there. I liken it to Brigadoon, a place that only existed every 100 years for one day, and if anyone in the town left, it would cease to exist forever.
But as I wrote once before, Apifera is not as a much a place, as it is my intention in this world. Apifera is me trying to put my best parts out into the realms-through art, service and words.
We have had a lot of loss of late. Huck's death was huge. But, as strange as it sounds, it somehow released me from some thoughts I was stuck in. I had to let those thoughts go before I could feel my land feet again. I had to acknowledge exactly what I was letting go of, which meant digging into that anger and realizing what it was. At first I thought I was angry because we moved-could it have all been a mistake, I thought? Had I convinced myself that all the strings that had to be cut and loose ends that had to be tied to get us here were just...by chance...and had nothing to do with my muses pulling us here?
I had to walk through it. I wasn't angry because we moved, I was angry because I had to acknowledge that Apifera will never be what it was in Oregon. Ever. It's gone. Cats aren't falling from trees here, roosters have not wandered on my property after I invited them on a chance introduction, there is not a clan of cats to care for, the barn is not old and The Head Troll is now semi retired.
I told Martyn this the other night, that the word that described the old Apifera, for me, was magic. But I asked him what he thought the word to describe the new Apifera was.
"I think it is still magic," he said.
I told him I thought the new word might be mystery.
Mystery is magic, he surmised.
The thing is, all these faces I show you today–the White Dog, the smiles of a llama and an old goat, the calm of the sheep–they are helping me create the mystery of the new Apifera. The old one was magnificent and took years to build, so the new one is forming. We don't know the exact form it will take. But that is the beauty of the mystery-our imaginations will be exercised and surprises await around every corner-perhaps even a cat falling out of a tree into my arms.