I wonder, since all comments are in English, do they translate my writing?
Do I have to write in English again? Does it have to be read? Do I have to be understand? What’s the point of writing anyway? Do I like to be heard?
How can I find peace of mind? Will I ever find home? Letting go.
I was collecting too many keys, too many houses, places to look after. Why can’t I settle down? Where are my roots. I can live anywhere, I feel at home anywhere. I don’t need all my stuff anymore. Most of it is stored. I do like my clothes, shoes, lingerie, books and cooking stuf. Carrying my bags everywhere. I’m so happy I have this big car.
So I rang up this morning and told the landlady I’ll be bringing back the key this afternoon. I’m so sorry. The room is lovely, the place supurb, straight view on the Maas, port of Rotterdam, beautiful architecture. But sorry no, I’m getting confused, looking after so many places, going up and down, I want to save energy, money, I have to change this killing routine of running. Sit down, relax, let go.
I can stay in my studio and in my gardenhouse on the allotment until it gets too cold. I can go to France, stay with friends, go to the dojo in Laren, I have so many opportunities, I am so lucky. Why can’t I be satisfied? Why am I still looking round the corner? What do I need? What holds me back from being united with myself, my heart? Old patterns, letting go.
To let go.