I spent most of the first few months after March 16, 2020, just sitting on my living room couch, staring out the windows and gazing at the trees—marvelous, gorgeous, tall old oaks mostly.
Stunned! In shock! Nowhere to go anyway.
Almost immediately, I heard and felt the trees talking back to me. And so it was that I was NEVER alone and discovered that the spirit guides of "all my relations" were with me—all the time, provided I opened my heart and mind to them.
After a few more months of this, I moved myself outdoors onto my favorite warm-weather relaxation and tree-gazing spot: my old oak-rimmed deck outside my living room. It was situated like a perch high above the mountain road, just right for me to see the occasional car or truck go by below without them seeing me. In this way, I came to terms with the multilayered crises we were all facing.
Not long after I accepted the state of affairs, I donated my car to charity. I was certain I would not be leaving the ten mountainside acres I live on, backed up against 4,000 acres belonging to the National Park Service—maybe forever.
That is how it has become. Others would come and go—board members, contractors, community members, and soon a resident intern to live on-site with me. And, treasure of all treasures, in 2021 we adopted our family "fur-baby," Charlie B, an eight-week-old Chesapeake Bay Retriever, the official state dog of Maryland where we are situated.
That is how Black Bear Mountain Village started to become—born out of the pandemic.
The most important lesson so far—I call it my homegrown Yoda-ism—is this:
"BE first. DO after BE."
It is a magical guidepost for me now, and it has helped me time and time again these past, going on four years, of unimaginable pressures.
More storytelling from me is on the way—as NH/ZOP becomes Black Bear Mountain Village and I complete writing Camelot Disrupted, due out in 2024.
The ride is already becoming a wild one! My Yoda-ism keeps me sane and healthy—happy and grateful.