I hand over the keys to my old house.
This evening I brought my children,
7 and 9 years old,
over to the old house to say goodbye.
We lived there for almost five years,
and when you’re 7 and 9,
that’s a good portion of your life.
They had fun running through the empty house,
their whoops and hollers echoing off the bare walls.
I walked room to room, thanking the house.
I said goodbye to the experiences it held,
good and bad.
I said goodbye to the kitchen island,
the epicenter of my creative expression there,
where so much fabric was cut for sewing,
so much art was made,
many meals prepared,
many words exchanged.
So many feelings now.
Relief to let go.
The pain of still healing wounds,
the memory of the grief and loss,
and the love that was shared there too.
I can remember all of it.
We returned to our new home,
still piled high with boxes,
little paths running through them.
I made a big pot of chicken soup
and we sat in the kitchen together,
the kids goofing off,
giggling with their noodle mustaches,
droplets of broth flying…
I’m grateful for them.
Just when I thought my heart might break
from another surge of memory,
they remind me that
home is here
and life is now
and love is real and present
and there is nothing missing.
Afraid for what awaits
in the emptiness
of my once shared space.
Grieving still what was…
wondering when I’ll be set free
from this self-imposed prison.
What do I need to do to let go
all the way?
The way this works,
if there is one shred of holding on,
the whole thing takes root again
and grows stronger than ever before.
I need grace
to help me let go all the way.
What would happen
if I suddenly recognized
that I am exactly where
I am supposed to be
doing exactly what
I am supposed to be doing?
What if I stopped struggling,
took a deep breath, and relaxed?
I might remember who I really am:
Pure consciousness aware of itself.
Upon this remembering,
bliss floods my being;
I am home.
I have spent so long in the dark,
It is time to remember.
Time to come home.
Nothing is ever still.
Even window glass is liquid,
although it flows at a pace
far too slow for our eyes to detect.
And our eyes…
they only see certain wavelengths of light.
they only hear certain frequencies of sound.
When I remember
that I simply do not have the faculties
to grasp the inifinite nature
of what is really happening,
I can deep a breath,
take a step back,
that the thing I call a “problem”
is just another play of phenomena
in this ever changing world of form.
As I relax around the many plays of form,
I can tune into what is formless in me.
And then…I’m home.
I’ve been searching for something out there,
sometimes catching a whiff of its fragrance
in the wind.
It would render me melancholy
to sense it but experience it
so far away,
when my heart longed for this thing
I could not know.
Sometimes it was a rush of cold air
into my nostrils
as I stepped from my grandmother’s house
into the winter night
and I’d search for the star
in the dark blue sky
that told me the light
was returning soon.
For the longest time
I feared the magic and suppressed it
much to my heart’s dismay.
The whole world seemed cold and dark
and I was trapped in a prison
of my own making.
Spirit came to rattle me out of my cage
and throw me into the light of day.
Such a fool I was,
resisting a project of God’s hand.
How can I stop the ocean from surging?
How can I move the sun in the sky?
How can I make the moon glow brightly?
How can I give the gift of new life?
I only experience these things
because consciousness pours through me.
Who made this consciousness,
the perceiver and the perceived?
My body speaks clearly.
Its language is believed.
I trust the longing in me now.
The magic in me swells alive within.
I open the door to the cold and dark everywhere
and catch its beloved fragrance on the wind.
Love is within.
Don’t fool yourself into thinking
you can find it out in the world—
you’ll be searching your whole life.
But sit. Get still.
Close your eyes.
Sense the presence of love
pulsing within you,
where it has always been,
where it is now,
where it will always be.
Know a love
that cannot be diminished
or taken away,
a love that just is.
With a love like this,
you’re at home
wherever you are,
safe and at peace
inside the tender heart
of the universe.
I wake up anxious.
We have a meeting
with the realtor.
She walks around the house,
We talk about selling it,
about me moving out with the kids
to an apartment,
about what that will look like.
I try not to let them see
how deeply triggered I am
by this conversation.
I finally excuse myself,
cry in the shower.
Life is changing all around me
and I’m holding on
to something that wants to leave.
I long to feel empowered
but I keep looking
in all the wrong places.
I want to be saved
but the inner savior
has fallen silent,
waiting for me
to just get still and listen.
How can I be still
with this discomfort?
How can I trust
that this is unfolding
exactly the way it’s supposed to?
How, in the midst
of the deep grief and pain
can I believe
that these feelings are temporary?
Another dark night begins.