Endings are Beginnings

Grand Canyon, December 2018

Endings are beginnings.

Yesterday,  we got word the senior center I work at preparing and serving food is closing as a precautionary measure. My Bistro I have funneled almost all of my energy into is closed indefinitely.

As I packed my things yesterday,  and said goodbye to my guests I serve and my co workers I have bonded with, I felt sad but also hopeful and a tad bit excited.

After this weekend,  I don't know where I will be working.  I might be delivering food to homebound seniors or working at another kitchen managed by someone else.  I am not in control.

This is familiar territory.

I have lived losses like all of us. I lost my farm and all of my money in the Great Recession.  I lost my pet sit business clients after the Tubbs Fire in 2017. I got sick and had to leave my job and home at the Grand Canyon in 2018. Now. I have lost the Bistro I worked so hard for this last month.

I have lost all my animals to natural and not so natural death. I have lost friends and relatives and intimate relationships.

I am now losing to a virus.

All of my losses have scared me and caused me grief and sadness. They have all led me to incredible beginnings that I did not foresee.  This is what I am looking forward to.

This virus does worry me. My close friend and I were joking that it feels apocalyptic like the show, The Walking Dead. That's how the last two apocalyptic fires felt. Especially the Tubbs. It was surreal. The air heavy with smoke for weeks.  The sky filled with helicopters chopping through the air. The National Guard. The food distribution centers. The evacuation zones.

In 4 months, by July we will be in fire season again facing uncertainty.

Right now, it seems everything is shutting down because of the virus.

During times like these, I look inside of myself.  I face death in a way.

I ask myself questions.  Am I living a good life? Am I being good to animals, the Earth, people.  Am I living a simple life, touching the Earth lightly,  embracing her instead of destroying her.

Today, my partner and I go to The Redwoods.  To walk barefoot on their soil. There are mushrooms spores underneath that shed anti viral properties from what I have heard.  I don't know if it is true. I do know the Redwoods are healing.

There are a group of trees there, so tall you can not see the tops reach the sky. They form a circle, their trunks blended together forming a scooped bench you can sit on. From here, you can join them with your arms hugging them to you.

Today, you will find me there, leaning against my friends,  finding strength to move forward.

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