Give Me A "Paris" Of Socks And I Will Walk Home

It’s about that point on my calendar that marks the date for me to submit to publishers. I made the date several months ago when I was writing everyday and inspired by all the differences around me. I don’t have a manuscript and I question whether or not I have talent. Maybe that read morose, but I am smirking, because I assume I do have talent... and I will go forward expressing what I consider “talent” to a still unreceptive world until the day I get the call: you did it, Abbey, everyone in the world loves you! They don’t expect anything from you except to be yourself, like you’ve been doing (maybe, by this time) (who am I?). At this point, I will have accepted myself, most likely, and learned how to love myself all while allowing other people to express themselves.

I think a parents job is to build you an identity that will serve you in this world, because I doubt who we truly are, on a soul level, has any place in the material world in which we live. I am not saying there cannot be shots of light through the colors of dysfunction (does it sound racist when I liken dysfunction to color?), like shadows playing out shapes of truth in an illusory world. I am saying that because if I hear another guru tell me to be vulnerable and try to guide me there, then ask for money for another level of my own self-knowledge... well, I started that sentence off like I had a plan, but really I don’t. I plan on trying not to judge other peoples’ truths. Whether it be that the aforementioned guru IS transparent in his divinity and his presence alone will raise you to knew heights of consciousness or that auditing is an effective form of self-knowledge (Scientology), I wont say what’s right or not. I don’t know anything about what works for other people. People are trying to have some structure to peace, to feel good and it is ironic that we talk about shedding layers like there is an internal destination to live from, when those layers are the structure we seek externally. In our attempts to tear them down, we’ve manifested them in the form of religion, occults and gurus. We are given moments of insight, where we sit in our true nature and feel peace, it is there, but there is not one way to find it. I don’t think very many people are claiming there is “one way” anymore, but I haven’t been to the South yet, either. So, to not judge another’s truth; to not follow another’s truth. That is my own personal revelation after seeking in the frame work of other people’s houses for a room of my own. Maybe Paris brought me to this point, maybe I would have found it in Yakima Washington, either way I was going to gain weight.

Now, I am in Paris. I thought I would come here and feel connected, like I finally found a place to belong. I would fall in love with a reasonable man and would be adored for me. I would get to a place in my body that felt waif-like and acceptable. I knew it would take effort, but it was worth the work. In reading about culture shock and talking to people who have lived abroad, there is a six-month mark where you are just ready to give up... everything is at it’s worst or whatever. I am there, but not with the same futility. I realize that I am at point of going “where do I want to live?”. It isn’t about not adjusting to a new place, it’s about accepting where I am in life and surrounding myself with opportunity. I do stand up and I like space. I like room on my side walk because I walk with purpose and I like plenty of days in a week to try new material/ re-work old material. This is not going to change. I am in love with a friend and old boyfriend who has asked me to live with him and even though we’ll be sleeping on the floor and I will be distracted by his life style choices, there is no one else on this Earth that I know to be better for me at this time. I could be alone with myself, but I have been doing that for so long, I think it might be a fun experience. Although, it could wind up being it’s own form of Paris... I will still learn something. So, I am returning to America to live in Portland, Oregon for awhile. I never thought I would be saying this and I don’t say it with contrition, I say it with hope and acceptance. I will have some time with people that I love and care about and I will always be free to follow my heart. I will miss the price of cherries in Paris and trusting the meat I eat anywhere. However, when I get back to the states, I will probably stop eating meat, anyway. Paris is beautiful and old, but so am I (I am a thousand years old) and I am going to take my Paris back home. It is going to cost me in changing my flight, but can you put a price on it? I am so excited to come back.