She is like a big muscular lover, overbearing but gentle. I tiptoe around her, still too shy to crawl under her belly. I can see big metal springs, shafts and pistons and tanks full of toxic fluids down there. Black dirt and rust. Massive tires as high as my shoulder. She is so ugly and yet, so lovely.
I try to disguise her automotive nature. Toss a rug over her massive steering wheel and put a pot of chives on the hood. I tell myself she is not so much a bus as a landlocked ship on wheels but really it is ridiculous to hide her identity. She weighs in at five tons. She’s my vessel.
This is the Universe grabbing me by the shirtfront and shaking me hard, throwing my carefully constructed identity back in my face like a glass of cold water. I stand naked in the face of my aversions. Nose to nose with the me I thought I was–Car-free Carmen, who rants about posessions and ownership, property is crime, yada yada yada. Not to mention cars – cars, good god! Wham! I now own both a home and a freakin’ enormous motor vehicle, keys in my hand and papers to prove she is mine.
In the shaping of heart’s desire I am learning to strike a balance between the general and the specific; to identify what I truly want without getting all caught up in details. In this way my options are many, my limitations are few, and my arms are wide open to receive.
I asked the Universe for just this: a tiny house among the trees. My wild imaginings did not envision an old Chevy school bus. The trickster Universe gives me exactly what I ask for but sometimes it comes in a funny wrapper. The price of the gift is small but steep–one stubborn crumb of self-identity that no longer serves me. Just one passing iteration in the lifelong fabrication, that I in my delusion imagined was me.