Ghosts

They're carving roads through the mountains again hoping that if they build it the opportunities will come for our struggling economy and people.  It's part of what the visionaries for our future in coalfields Appalachia term the "silver buckshot".  Try a bunch of things and see what sticks.  Everyone has an opinion of how there is a lot of misdirected funds and efforts here.

I live in the town I was born in.  I've lived here longer than I lived anywhere else in my 40 years.  I've never lived outside of Kentucky.  I've seen little of the world outside the commonwealth.  My hometown is in the central Appalachian coalfields.  The population of Whitesburg hovers around 1500 people these days.  

It's a marked and steady decline from my youth.  It would take me an entire essay to explain to outsiders how living here is so unlike the urban American experience that it is as if you're from an entirely different country.  Cultural norms, stereotypes, and etiquette are difficult to translate.  It's a place that the developed world over still finds it politically correct to publicly and openly insult without most people thinking less of you for doing so.  I've experienced it often firsthand, even from people I thought respected me.  It may be worse from within our own state where whole swaths say, "We're not THAT Kentucky," when referring to the eastern part of the state.  

This place, more so the landscape, is my home.  It is the substance of my blood.  It's a place you should experience with a guide.  Not just any guide.  Not a romanticized reframing narrative of how its quaint, enduring beauty has been falsely portrayed.  Not the resiliency narrative of a people perpetually oppressed and misunderstood as if they were the butt crack of society.  The scapegoats.  While both hold merit and are important pieces of the story, they are glorifying oversimplifications.  It's far more complicated and nuanced.  In not taking the time to convey or discern the big picture, many efforts of revival here shoot off their own toes, spin wheels, and self sabotage. 

I'm not writing about that though.  That, too, is spinning wheels.  It might be more interesting, but for my purposes now, I am writing about my personal journey with actually trying to LIVE here.  For this post particularly, how living here impacts my efforts to heal and liver a fuller embodied life.

I moved back because city living (Louisville) became less of an adventure after having children.  It was a life that can never feel as familiar as the smell of damp earth and sun in the morning.  My childrens' grandparents and extended family are mostly here.  So much of the magick I wanted to share with them, I could only readily access here.  I knew how to keep up safe here.

As much as this place is a part of me and what I want to keep in my life, there is a significant aspect of me that feels stifled, put down, and silenced.  Working on my own groundedness, I have realized that the place I call home has never fit outside of a few mossy rocks and rolling mountain streams.  That part of me wants to go.  I imagine some sort of balance where my permanent dwelling is here or another part of Appalachia and I travel for my work.  I have both worlds in that scenario.  I have my landscape.  The microcosm that created my body and foundations, while at the same time finding a wider interpersonal community where I can contribute through sharing embodiment workshops, yoga, and my writing.  I can share with people who are interested in my perspective and experience, while I learn from them and their offerings.

I have some beautiful opportunities to share some aspects of who I am here.  Those chances keep me from feeling devastated.  Yet, overall, I often feel a waste.  I feel as if I am an odd peg with a chipped corner and one side swollen from getting wet.  I belong to the set, but I don't fit well in the hole.  The only time I don't feel awkward here is when I am teaching a yoga class.  As soon as I end with "Sat Nam," the awkwardness floods back in.  I have stopped being in public here aside from errands, school events for my children, teaching yoga, and wherever I can escape into the woods.

There are ghosts here to dodge.  Eyes that have shared with you behind a screen like a confessional, but won't look at you in the grocery store.  Ducking behind displays on aisle end-caps to avoid small talk that is only cordial.  Empty store fronts of inaccessible, unsustainable opportunity.  A community you love so much it breaks your heart, but has only so many tiny spaces where you can squeeze in for a moment if you can behave not pushing too many wrong buttons.  I've pushed those buttons, and like a mouse in a scientific experiment, received the electric jolt to associate with the behavior. I use the word "afraid" a lot.  I'm adverse to small town drama because it is no longer worth the consequences.  I'm happy to risk when my heart is passionately led.  Other than my personal work in my little room and teaching yoga privately and at my local library, I haven't felt passion in a very long time.  I have not felt the space for it.  I have not had what I need to add fuel to what burns in me.  The burning turns to sadness unexpressed and dies there uncomfortable to breathe.

There's too many ghosts here.  The vibration of what was, is, could, would, and should be floating around without ground.  Sometimes I think, anywhere else I could carve out a space where people could benefit from what I can offer because the ground is tilled and the seeds are planted.  I'm the energy that grows the plants, plucks out the weeds, and gives water and light.  I feel worthless here as my manifestation is yet to find fertile ground.  Or there are so many ghosts I can no longer recognize the dirt.

I don't know my answer.  I want to trust that the opportunity comes where I find that balanced place I mentioned before to feed my soul.  I know that it is becoming harder for me to accept as when I visit away from here, even conversation in the checkout lines feels so much warmer and genuine.  There are more spaces for me than I have the ability to fill.  Here, I find myself more insular and reclusive than is healthy for me, and I don't have much impetus to change that in the current configuration of home.

Maybe... just maybe... I haven't been home yet.