The Glass Cottage

I once dreamt I lived in a glass cottage in the woods.

I was 22 years old and attending a small conference where a leader took us on a guided meditation in which we created a safe place in our minds. I relaxed and allowed my mind to work and it built me that little cottage. It had a solid foundation of stone, but its walls were glass. A bright fire shone from within and the forest gathered closely around it, protecting it, as if the deeply-rooted trees were holding the cottage in their branches.

Back in those days, when I was confronted with something frightening or threatening to my well-being, I’d close my eyes and visit that cottage. In my mind, I’d pass under the stone arch of the doorway and into the cozy interior, where the fireplace was always blazing. I’d close the door behind me and curl up under a soft blanket. I would feel safe.

Then one day I grew up and forgot all about that glass cottage, as if I was so tough I no longer needed a safe place tucked in the trees.

…

In 2014 I left Colorado and moved to Washington. For work reasons, it would be 3 months before Derek, the pets and our stuff were able to join me here. I was living alone in a giant, empty house with only a mattress and my closet. Honestly, at night I was often frightened, and lonely as well. I didn’t know a soul in my new town. One night, I made it home from work early enough to stand on my deck and admire the trees that surround the house-- especially one tree, a bigleaf maple that I immediately named Greta.

Greta stands tall, taller than the other trees, with her branches spread wide above the ground to catch the sun. When we first met it was winter and while she had no leaves, she was covered in a patchwork of brilliant green moss. She looked ancient, wise and safe. We regarded one another for a time and I asked her if she’d keep me safe. She rustled her boughs in the breeze in answer.

I talked to Greta often over the years and took many photos of her throughout the seasons we have shared. When Derek and I went through the extreme physical and emotional trauma of my heart transplant, she stood strong and tall. She watched over me and kept me safe.

…

In 10 days, I leave Washington to move back to Colorado. Derek and the pets and our stuff moved ahead of me two months ago, creating a natural, if melancholy, bookend to the life we made here. In the past week, I began packing my things and saying goodbye to all of the friends I’ve made. I’ve tried to visit my favorite places and soak up every last bit of the incredible community that embraced me years ago.

One day this week, I walked down the path in the woods that would take me to Greta’s feet. I looked up and she was stunning in her autumn gown. We regarded each other for a while, as we have over the years. We said our goodbyes and I cried.

I watched some of her leaves fall in a perfect symphony of wind and sun and quiet and I suddenly thought of that little glass cottage for the first time in decades. Where had it gone in my mind? Why had it vanished?

My Greta’s leaves rustled in a soft gust of wind and she told me the truth of the safe place my mind built so long ago: I’ve been that little stone cottage all along.

I stand on a strong foundation, with transparent walls of glass. To keep myself from shattering I allow everyone to see inside of me, where a fire is always blazing. After five a half years in this community, I know now I am protected not only by Greta but by the strong, beautiful and wise friends who have crowded around me during my time here.

Their branches are now parting as they lift me toward the sun.