i’ve got that buzzy pre-travel feeling. that one that, always right before, balks and questions whether i really ought to go. of course, i know too well the comforts of habit, the ease of losing myself in the needs and routines of my family, and the need i have, deep down, to balance this blessed life with adventure, retreat, and pattern-breaking.

the past few weeks have brought both radiant sunshine and drizzly grey, both inside and out. i’ve detoxed and submerged, reduced and savored. i’ve carefully curated what enters both my body and my home and the benefits are revealing themselves. i can honestly say that i am greeting spring and the rapidly approaching summer with joy and resolution, with a (mostly) calm belly and with a lightness of being that i’ve longed for after some not-so-easy winter storms.

so tomorrow will find me on three airplanes, so that i can nuzzle up to some different mountains and explore a stretch of trail i’ve dreamt of walking on. i will then be retreating at another place i’ve wanted to go to for almost a decade, and sharing the weekend with a teacher that has had a profound impact on my life for the past several years.

every day, it is my practice to ask for the greatest ease, grace, and abundance, for myself and for my family, so that we can be of service to our highest potential and work on this planet and in this lifetime. at the start of this year, with this daily prayer in mind, as well as mindful of the delicate state i was in at the time, i chose carefully what travel i would do this year and what wells i would pilgrimage toward for truth, rest, and sustenance. this is the first of three journeys that intuitively called to me. my word for the year is home, and each of these 2013 travels feels like a homecoming. a return to source, simplicity, silence.

i am grateful. see you on the flip side.

The three facets of true refuge–awareness, truth, and love–come alive as we dedicate our presence to them. ~Tara Brach

it doesn’t much matter if i am cashmere and you are lace, if i am adobe and you are marble.

what matters is that we know what we are.

if that smooth bark of the eucalyptus tree gives you insight, then it belongs with you.

and the more we surround ourselves by the shapes, the textures, the patterns, the light, the places, and the people that our hearts innately grasp toward, the more we are guided in, the more we are brought back home.

it is not about accumulating, it is about recognizing and eliminating what does not speak the truth.

it is about our senses in action, in response, in communication, consciously, with our depth.

if it really is all energy, which i believe it is, then of course this scent, this view, this season, this warm cup, this song, this flavor, and the weave of this fabric matter.

these objects and elements show me who i am, help me to relax inside, open doorways into my fullness, and help me to better express myself.

and the more i know who i am, the more i can connect to who you are. our separation, our suffering, diminishes.

there is legitimacy in your longing. i have said it before. and it keeps coming back.

Don’t share borrowed insights, there is no transmission in that.
Only share experiential insights. Real teachers practice, transmitting the formless into form.
~Sarah Powers (from my personal notes taken during Insight Yoga workshop)

(the book featured in the above image is True Refuge, by Tara Brach)

i have a fascination with carcass and decay. i am intrigued when i can see what is inside. winter’s veil amplifies the urge–as my own inner world gets caught in the grey undertow of  fear and illusion, i am lured to excavate.

my work in the world right now is within myself and with my family. it is breakfast making, errand running, peace-keeping, college touring, and navigating the stresses of ambitious teens. i am the wing-woman. i am the mother. i am the wife. i am the supporter and forgiver and believer.  i know in the deepest part of my guts that this is where i am meant to be right now. i am better, my family is better. long ignored parts of me are healing with each day that is focused on simplicity and surrender.

but still, i remember the thrill of sitting on that dusty floor in india and of finding and meeting the global community that i became a part of. i fear having lost it. i fear being left behind or forgotten or, worse, being wasted potential. as i sit with my anxious demons, i feel these waves rise up. i question my choices and i wonder if i am underestimating my capacity. but then, i toss myself into the possibility of peddling my wares, deadlines and proposals and accountability to others, and i feel myself seize up inside. i know this is the time to root into bone, for stability and blood-making. and yet, my faith is challenged.

what there is time for in my life now is the depth and discomfort of introspection. there is time for the real lived experience of breath and betrayal, of intimacy and idolization. i have a relationship with my own inner compass in a way that i have yet to know in a life of seeking and distracting, ashrams and incense; of being both student and teacher. i am getting to know my transverse abdominals, my ugliest terrors, my truest dreams. i am lonely often. i am afraid often. i compare and judge often. i am triggered often. i feel vapid and shallow and empty often. i am pathetically insecure often. still, strangely, i am feeling more right, more at home, than i ever have.

not so strangely, one of the greatest solaces for me is here, on this page, with you. this is where things unbind, where grip is released, where curiosity leads to language, and eventually to more freedom inside. i tell the truth of my story as best i can, allusion and metaphor protecting those i love. i am so grateful for those of you who come, who take the time to write, who see something of themselves in what i share. it is true that we all just want to be seen and heard, for our lives to matter. i hope that what i do here, little though it may be right now, helps you to know that you are seen.

and in return, i am not asking for anything.
i currently have nothing to sell, nothing to give away, no course or book or retreat or offering.
i really look forward to the time in my life and in my body that will allow for these things.
but for now, i just want to know that you are out there. that we are living in grace, together.

Because nothing
Can deter or distract me
From keeping the appointment I made
So very long ago
To create heaven on earth
With you.

~From Waiting Room, by Jill Lurie

these are the days that i want to bite glass. there is a restlessness in every corner of my body. i want to unzip it, open it, rip it out. these are the days that the injustices and the absolutions scare me.

these are the days when i know to move. i walk for hours, on a hunt for mercy. my words are sharp and my thoughts relentless. the assault is unbearable and the only way to avoid destruction is to propel myself through time and space. i close my eyes as i trek toward amnesty.

these are the days when i learn to understand the inquiry required to achieve happiness, when i know that asking, naming, telling, releasing, are the pathways to healing. though they seem to be mocking me, the poets and the hummingbirds show up to tell me that this too shall pass. the right song delivers comfort. the shock of aloe blooms change the narrative. slowly and subtly, i change too.

these are the days that i am keenly aware of the shadows looking through my windows and yet i keep dancing naked in front of them.
perhaps i deserve it, perhaps i have granted an invitation to lurk and haunt.
and still, i will continue to follow the succulent’s wisdom and bloom candidly–even when it appears absurd.
in the name of freedom. in the name of hope. in the name of all that brings us closer.

Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile, the world goes on.
~Mary Oliver