It was just one year ago yesterday that I had returned home from Provence. Seems more like a decade, really. My travels at the end of last year had begun in Cabo San Lucas to celebrate Thanksgiving with a man whom we had thought was a beloved member of our extended family. We had bestowed unconditional love and trust upon this poseur and his ghetto girlfriend, only to be cruelly betrayed and deceived. My intuitive self recognized the evil that we had encountered, and I was shaken to my core, unsure of what to do.
When we returned to Phx and fired up our cellphones at the airport, I received a voicemail that my college roommate was in the hospital. I unpacked, did laundry, re-packed and headed to the East coast to help her through several weeks of recovery and rehab from knee surgery. ‘Twas truly a labor of love, to be sure. Totally exhausting for an already depleted spirit. That’s when my dear, sweet H told me to take some time for me. I was already half way to France, so why not just keep going east?
And I did just that. I spent three amazing weeks in Provence, dining on exquisite country cuisine and absorbing the culture and ambience in my own rhythm and at my own pace. Toured several days with the lovely Laurence, who shared wonderful experiences I would never have found in a travel guide. Merci beaucoup! I became energized by the landscapes and small villages, soaking in the very sites that had been painted by my then inspiration,Vincent Van Gogh.
Yesterday, I started working on a painting of this picture of the Ruelle de Cotignac, just one of many countless, charming alleyways in Provence, and realized that it was exactly one year ago that I had so divinely revitalized my mind, body and spirit in this picturesque land of enchantment.
If it were not for Provence, this would have been a much more difficult year for me to navigate, let alone survive. I have suffered many, many losses this past year. As I sit here and reminisce, I realize that my journey is very much like a butterfly emerging from its cocoon. Only the process happens over and over, every time there is spiritual growth following debilitating pain. Again. And again. And yet again, Life is an infinite process, after all, whether we like it or not. I used to want to move into a Rockwell painting and live, blissfully happy, in a frozen moment in time. Obviously I had to give up on that delusional fantasy and learn how to live in the moment. Letting go of the past while simultaneously letting go of anticipating the future. Hard to do. Takes a lot of cognitive work.
The holidays are a boggy quagmire for me emotionally, as I know it is for many. But there is a reason it is hard for us. So we must believe in our spiritual power and worthiness. We must remember all that we are grateful for, daily. Speaking of that, I’ve gotta dust off my Gratitude Jar that got stuck in a closet for house showings. I am proof positive that you are never too old to learn and never too old to morph into something better, something even more beautiful than you are now…Namaste, Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays and Magical Love and Light to all, and to all, a good night.
Dec. 24, 2015
Judy Richter 