It is a beautiful sunday morning and I am walking through the forest which lies at only 2 minutes walking distance from my new home in the south of Breda. It is one of the advantages of this moving that gave me shivers and that I delayed for so long. The old monastery was, notwithstanding its beautiful surroundings, a stuffy place filled with tension and I often felt I had to hide. Still it felt reassuring, I have hidden so often in my life. Perhaps that is why it took so long to move away from there.
While walking in nature I can usually better listen to my feelings and arrange my thoughts. Waking is a meditative movement, when you are not occupied with the business surrounding you. It does soon get busy though; walkers, hikers, bikers. It also gets hot rather soon. I realise I got up too late from my wonderful new bed in which my dreams are waking up. I haven’t walked a lot these past weeks. My house needed finishing and it had to be a good place. A place to be.
I have a relation of extremes with ‘place’. Often I have this feeling that there is no place for me in the whole world and sometimes I have this euphoric feeling that the whole world is my place. Often I feel that I tie myself down if I take up a place of my own, for myself, and I that I never can get away from it anymore. And without place there is no solid ground for me. Place has never been a very safe spot for me. An old wound that makes it so easy for me to see the importance of place around me. This place can be my home. Out of sight when I need to be and with a view on the world. A place to dream and wake up. Perhaps not so stange that I feel new energy flowing through my body. During my walk I all over sudden felt strongly and emotionally that my father is proud of me. He surfaces in unexpected places.