Rough Drafts
A Series of Pieces Written in The Wild
#11
“This being human is a guest house” says Rumi, but what if I want it to be a treehouse. In a forest that looks out to a beach. What if my treehouse had creaky wooden bridges that swayed a little with each footstep. Or had ladders made of rope and fallen branches. Would you visit? What if there was a zip line! Zip lines are fun. The first time I went on a zip line was in New York, of all places. Not a jungle in Costa Rica or some other normal place to zip line but somewhere near the Brooklyn Bridge. I was just dumped or in the process of being dumped by a much older man who should have been mature enough to not have inserted himself to begin with. There may have been a parade that day or a street fair. It, honestly, could have been there just because it’s fucking New York, babbbbyyyy! It was bright red and, feeling brave, I took one zoom down the zip line and then probably went home. This was at a time where I still felt like something was wrong with me if I did stuff like that alone even though, historically, I pretty much was left to do most things by myself. I was still in the habit then of picking people I felt lonelier with than without. I don’t want to go down that route.
Back to the treehouse! What if my treehouse had swings that hung down and faced the ocean. And we could swing like little kids on a playground as the sun sets. I think I only watched “Swiss Family Robinson” once or twice in my life. I don’t remember what it was about. A family that gets shipwrecked and has to figure out how to live in a tree? I could Google it but I don’t actually care that much. In the Before Times when I would go in for craniosacral to manage my pain, the therapist would sometimes tell me to go to my safe place. I saw this treehouse hanging in the forest just across from a glittering sea with twinkle lights wrapped around every railing.
