I am still in Sedona. I had plans to visit this place, plans to leave, plans to get going, plans to move to . . . (a million places), plans - I guess . . . I am still here in Sedona. She keeps me here and takes care of me, fixes me up, restores me and keeps me still. Oh, well. I can't seem to get out of here. So I accept. Sedona wants something with me, wants to fix me still. I accept now. So many people here say you come here when it's your turn and you are kept here until it's time to go. It is done to all who come here. OK, then. I accept now that I am here and that I can't get out of here yet. Like twilight zone. It's OK. (Acceptance usually leads to change.) When the time comes, if ever. Maybe I'm locked into Sedona. Who knows? Only Sedona, and them in the ground and them upstairs.
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I enjoy the climate here, the mild winter, the feelings of fall. Sun, always sun. Trees, nature, the howling of the coyotes at night, the stars, the clear sky, the pristine air, the silence and stillness, the power from the mountains surging through me, my little house with big windows and trees everywhere, all my animals, the simplicity of every day and the lots and lots of rest.
