Perceptions (a post that deserves a lot more thought)

I'm now home, or the place formerly known as home, which still feels like home, exhausted, sitting in my usual spot on the sofa, with my computer in my lap, a heating pad on my lower back, and with Miko at my side. My cat is soon to be "not mine", as sad as that makes me, for she loves to run around, to hide, and to go outside. She'd have none of those things if I took her to New York with me, and given her personality, I just can't do that to her.

What I originally opened the computer to write was this: The small room I'm sitting in is not small. I would never have called it spacious, but it sure feels that way now. My immediate response upon entering the house was "wow - this is big!"

I wrote that last night, and fell asleep with the laptop in my lap. I'm exhausted still, and more than a little overwhelmed by a number of things. One, even on this gray day, I am keenly aware of how much light is streaming into the rooms of the house. I can see trees, grass (yes, the snow melted while i was gone), birds at the feeders; oh so much more than I ever noticed before. And when I woke up, I was even more aware of just how big a space is I've been living in. The adjustment i am about to make is huge.

It's fascinating to me how malleable our perception of reality is. To a person living in a jail cell, the average New York apartment would feel gigantic (except for that one place I saw). The house in Maine was supposedly in a "noisy" location. When I pulled into the driveway late last night, I was struck by the quiet and dark, and unlike most rural spots, there's even a few street lamps.

But in New York City, darkness is hard to come by and is usually avoided at all costs, at least on the street.

March, which is a month I usually find impossibly gloomy, looks and feels wonderful to me. I'm appreciating everything I grumbled about in the past. The bleakness is quite beautiful. The grass is brown, yellow, with spots of here and there of dull green, but instead of thinking about how absurdly long the season, I'm seeing it for what it is.

I am sure I'd see it quite differently if I weren't leaving. I've always found March to be frustrating, overlong, and depressing. But now, I know I'm leaving Maine behind, I am seeing it without any baggage (or at least I think so). What a gloriously beautiful state!

I wonder if we see anything at all without the lens of our emotions. Maybe we do if we're fully enlightened, but somehow I think nobody is that detached. I'm sure even the Dalai Lama's perception of the world around him is colored by his past experience and present mood, even if he does seem to smile all the time.

Of course, I could be wrong.

Painting note: Gray and Gold - The Golden Bay" James MacNeil Whistler 1900
I cropped the boat out of this painting. To see the entire thing, go here. Quite frankly, this piece of work does little for me, but it certainly has the colors that I see outside the window right now.