As the sun sank behind the hills and the sky went through the various stages of saying goodnight to the earth the temperature dropped until the glass became cold enough to condensate from the heat rising off my dirty socks propped upon the widow sill. Such a silly thing to notice! Absolutely horrifying to anyone who thinks clean windows (or clean socks) make up an important part of any day. But to me the slow steaming fog that I could direct by simply moving my feet left or right represented a purity of feedom to live as I choose such as I have spent my life searching for.
I know I am home. Home in a spiritual and physical sense when I am in such peaceful moments as these. Moving to Ngaroma almost a year ago was a home coming for me, even though I had never lived here before. Such is my souls connection to the hills and remote bush clad lands.
Never one to be entirely comfortable in 'civilised' living (although well enough brought up to be able to pretend admirably) I find a certain joy in steaming the windows of my lounge with the warm odour of a long day in boots. I have recently been refered to as 'Feral' by friends and they may not be too far from the truth. But if feral is what I am then I'd be living a falsehood to attempt to live in any other way. I have been guilty of this in the past, most of us have if we were honest I think, living in conformation with societal, religious or moral expectations. These seldom work for more than a few of us and I am surprised at the allegience we swear to such norms all the while feeling a repression of spirit under their heartless rule.
So here's to sock steam on the window and courage to live unacceptable lives of freedom and truth unto our own unique souls.