It's time to go. This is the bridge to cross between being here, as I am, in these last few moments of the conference, before I get in my car to drive home to Boston, where I will sleep late tonight. And I have been tearful, as I always am after a deep experience, after such an attachment, such an whole-hearted and involving experience in a home away from home. It's not sadness, and yet it sort of is. I will be so happy to be home, with family, with Charlie and Suzi who are aching for me to return (so I hear). It's a kind of disorienting gratitude:
I had this? All this? So much?All this creative outpouring and friendship, and helping women learn and grow and express themselves and master craft? And, yet I must somehow pack it up tight and leave. And re-enter the universe of my lovely home and family, satisfied. And full of desire for the next right thing to be immersed in. And so, I cross the bridge and travel onward. And my home is in me, wherever I am, wherever I go.
