You Are Not Behind

“Perhaps you are not behind at all. Perhaps you are simply in the middle of becoming.”

My sweet mermaid darlings and dear Stillwater ladies,

I have been quietly tucked away behind the scenes of late, tending small matters with patient hands and allowing my knees the slower sort of healing I confess I never imagined would require quite so much time. Yet perhaps there is something rather humbling in being made to move gently again; to sit more often beside one’s own thoughts; to curate quietly whilst the world rushes noisily onward without us.

I have still been gathering lovely things all the same; little thoughts; little hopes; candlelit notions for the settlement and the tea room and all the tender corners yet to come. And last week, the tide remained kind, therefore i left several small sweet messages upon the YouTube channel, which I hope may bring comfort to any heart presently wandering through its own unseen season of becoming.

I have also recently shared a rather long and heartfelt live conversation there, wherein I spoke candidly about exhaustion, perseverance, healing, and the curious business of continuing onward even when one feels somewhat weather-worn by the journey. Alongside it, I left a channelled reflection concerning the future of social media itself; a subject which seems to occupy the minds of so many creators presently navigating these ever-changing digital seas. If either finds its way to you, I hope it arrives as a friendly lantern rather than a lesson.

There is a peculiar sort of sorrow that settles upon the heart when one watches others arrive whilst she herself still appears to be travelling; and I do not mean the shallow sort of envy spoken of so freely now, but the quieter ache known mostly to women who have tended a vision for so very long that it has become stitched into the lining of their spirit.

I have known this feeling well, my mermaid darlings.

One woman opens the tea room; another publishes the book; another gathers the audience; another moves into the old house she dreamt of when she was scarcely more than a girl with ribboned hopes and flour upon her sleeves. Meanwhile, there you sit beside your own little life, wondering softly whether the tide has forgotten your name entirely.

Yet I have come to believe something rather different.

I do not believe our lives unfold according to punishment, favouritism, or abandonment at all; I believe they unfold according to readiness, alignment, and the peculiar intelligence of timing that very few souls trust whilst standing within it.

A seed does not apologise for remaining unseen beneath the earth.

It allows the dark to perform its holy work.

It softens; it breaks; it yields; and from the outside, one could very easily mistake the entire affair for failure. Nothing appears to happen for such a long while that the impatient observer assumes the thing has died entirely. Yet beneath the soil, a thousand invisible rearrangements quietly prepare for the precise moment the tender green shoot may rise without collapsing beneath its own becoming.

I think many women abandon themselves in this season.

They dig endlessly at the earth to check whether the roots are forming; they compare their unopened garden to another woman’s harvest; they decide the dream must not be theirs because it has not arrived quickly enough to soothe the nervousness of waiting.

And still the seed remains below; not dead, but occupied.

I have manifested extraordinary things in my own life; some so improbable they would sound almost fanciful if spoken plainly aloud. Yet even now, whilst living faithfully within the end of my desires, I find pieces still arranging themselves with a wisdom far older than my impatience. The cottage, the tea room, the settlement, the beautiful gatherings I see so clearly in my mind, all of it continues moving toward me in exact proportion to the hour appointed for it.

Not late; not withheld; not forgotten.

Merely unfolding.

We speak often now as though manifestation means immediate appearance; yet nature herself has never behaved in such a hurried fashion. The rose does not burst forth the very afternoon the seed is pressed into the garden bed; the tide does not rush inland because we stamp our slippered feet upon the shore and demand it come at once.

The old world understood this far better than we do.

Women once quilted hope slowly into their lives; they planted orchards whose fruit they might never fully enjoy; they stitched linens for homes not yet built; they trusted continuity more than spectacle. There was less panic in becoming because a deeper trust in seasons remained.

And perhaps that is what so many weary hearts truly hunger for now; not merely the manifestation itself, but permission to trust the unseen portion of their becoming without feeling left behind whilst it ripens.

My sweet Stillwater darlings, if your life appears quiet just now, do not mistake quietness for absence. The roots often labour hardest where no applause can reach them.

You are not behind.

You are beneath the soil for a little while longer, and strange though it may seem, that hidden season may prove the very making of you.

Most affably yours ‘til my next enchanting swim,

Lady Raquel

Why We're Turning Our 1974 Home Into An English Victorian Mermaid Cottage {To Then Sell And Become Homesteaders}

 My dear friends,

I received the news last Wednesday that we were out of the running for the curatorship of Flanders Mansion in Carmel By The Sea. I wasn't devastated or distraught, because I know that just means considerable specific desires that Jeffrey and I have are coming. I deeply trust the processes. I spent over 5 years diligently working with the city, historical research on the mansion, the Flanders family genealogy, and I feel very confident that all of that work was leading me to what will be.

My newest little cross-stitch I'll begin this evening by kerosene light.

My Beloved Gardener and I have a little routine that we do on weekends. After our home chores: we get baths, dress, jump into the truck, drive about looking at homes, land and property. We go to all sorts of little farmers markets, flea markets and charity shops. It's one of our favourite things to do as a couple.  He also knows that when I take my big camera there's going to be many stops for picture taking and picking of wildflowers. {I keep a little pair of clippers in my car, along with a little corked bottle of water, just for those spur of the moment times}.

So, upon learning that Flanders' was no longer in our future, we talked about where we might want to set down roots to create our 'forever home'.

Our plan is to find a substantial piece of property and become homesteading farmers. We have even talked about buying one of those stone cottage kits and build our own little cottage just the way we like it. We are going to get 5 sheep, more chickens {we'd like about 20}, roosters, more rabbits and a few dogs. That will be plenty for us as we will have all the farming to do, especially since we plan to have a large vegetable/ flower garden too. Jeffrey is most excited about the garden, and I can't wait either. I feel a little like Tasha Tudor. I can imagine she was just as happy the day she purchased her property to begin her dream home.

 I will have a stone wall such as this, along with the entire cottage being made of stone. Even the sheer thought of it makes me beyond giddy.

I think of Louisa May Alcott when she and her family finally moved into The Orchard House.  She, too, had always moved around and I can only imagine she was thrilled to bits to finally land at, "The Orchard House".

I am actually a bit relieved to finally know that I can now get on with life~so to speak. I had spent so many years living in a state of uncertainty with Flanders. That feeling begins to take a toll on someone after a period of time~ it did for me, anyway.

I do love the little home that we named Staffordshire Cottage, and it has so many delightful features and a surplus of potential. I had the idea of turning it into an authentic Victorian cottage a few months back as I was speaking with my dear friend. She is the friend of Tasha Tudor's children. We were chatting it up last week, and as usual, Tasha came up. She knows so much about Tasha and I gathered many more intentions from her. I got off of the telephone and thought to myself, " I shall do as Tasha Did." Tasha wasn't always where she desired to be. It wasn't until much later in life that she lived in her dream home that her son built by hand. Did you know for a little over a year Tasha and her children lived in their barn while the house was being built? She went many years living in another home, and while she was there, she sketched and dreamed about her one-day dream home that she envisioned.

The other day I was thinking about how often women, look at other women and compare their lives. We forget~ that artist/author that we admire so greatly has been on their personal journey for decades, and maybe our journey is just beginning. They, too, were where we are once upon a time. I am into my journey of only a few years. There are others somewhere out there, just beginning. Let us be mindful, we will get our greatest desires and dreams, but we must relish and live in the NOW. Each of us is unique and individual, and we mustn't focus on others and what they are doing. Regardless, of how similar in nature someone's life seems to appear, it is not. I think women do a grave disservice to themselves when they compare their lives to other women.

I acknowledge to you that I say this frequently, and the reason I do so is, that what better person to speak of such a thing, than a person that once upon a time struggled. It tore me up mentally, and it's truly no good for our sweet little spirits. Let us cut that out. {smile}

The long end path of Jeffrey and myself will be to spend much effort in transforming our little cottage into an English Victorian Cottage. Our tentative plan is to then sell it, make a decent profit and buy our piece of land. We are going to give ourselves a good year to work on the cottage, and in our spare time, continue seeking a beautiful piece of land. Do you dream of living in the country or are you a city gal?

Most affably yours til my next swim, Raquelxxx