My name is Clista Narcissus. There is a long story about why my given name is so unusual. Short version–I was named by my mom after her mother (who died when she was nine). I was her ninth child. When I was nine, I finally learned that my middle name was the name of the overarching category of flowers that include that daffodil, in all its permutations. When I realized this, I was OK with having a name that few people could pronounce, and which I could not even spell. I loved my name because I loved flowers and I loved the grandmother I never knew, but with whom I felt a kinship with, stronger than any living person.

At the age of nine, I also experienced an illness that changed forever the way I experienced my life. I contracted rhuematic fever, and afterward suffered daily the constant pain of what was diagnosed as fibromyalgia over three decades later. I do not know if my recognition that my emotional life was too painful to bear gave rise to the disease, or if the disease formed a barrier in my ability to feel good in life. Maybe both, but ever since, I have struggled with wanting to be in my body, and I still question the validity of my life. Depression is so much a part of me, I don’t know if I would recognize myself if I were happy. Chronic pain is an insidious and sometimes crippling reality, both physically and emotionally. This past year has been a journey of trying, and sometimes succeeding, in overcoming both the physical and emotional pain.

I have been chasing wild flowers since I could walk. I grew up on the prairie, and the wild flowers there were small, discrete and lovely. I learned to look very close to find the perfect geometry of each tiny blossom. But look I did, for this prairie was the promised land, the place of my escape from the hardness of human life, the land of milk and honey, a place where I could find solace, and beauty, no matter how diminutive.

This blog will chronicle this path of mine that began all those years ago, on the grasslands of middle America, but which continues in its mature form among the valleys, hills, and mountains of Southern Oregon. This region has been my home for almost 30 years. The year that I begin this is a year in which I have seen numerous changes in my life, in my body, heart, mind and soul. I separated and divorced my husband of 27 years, who was also my best friend. I began a new job, a new love relationship, and started to learn how to live alone, and be my own best friend. The journey that I will share with you is a journey that is both concrete, and can be traced in the actual landscape around me, and an oddessy of self discovery and change that leaves no trace on the external world, but leaves a profound mark on my spirit.

I invite you to join me in this exploration, and to tell me what you think and feel as you read what I write of my experiences. This blog will focus primarily on the hikes I have done this year as it unfolds, with additional posts reflecting last year, and other past experience. I will record the locations, the time of year, the flowers, the people I shared these exploits with, and some history and adventures along the way.

I am excited to tell this story–I want to be known, and recognized. I hope that you will see something of yourself in this, or maybe something you long for, or something you love, or need right now. This is a story of saying “yes” to life and to love, in the face of pain.

Welcome.

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