As I write this, it is Easter Sunday in the Christian calendar. In New Thought, we celebrate the birth of the Christ light within each of us. We remember that we are not a drop in the ocean; we are the entire ocean in a drop (paraphrased from Rumi).
I will be leaving for our home in Santa Fe on Saturday – in 6 days.
Lent is over.
I have completed the work for which I came to the Sonoran Desert. I nourished myself by living alone. I transformed negative thinking, birthed new opportunities, and learned new ways to care for my body. Now it is time to go home to Santa Fe and live into these new awarenesses.
A part of me doesn’t want to. I want to stay permanently and build a life here. Another part is ready to return to the comforts of my own physical home, friends, husband, and pets – a life already created.
In the transition from one home to the other, there is sadness and grief along with anticipation and excitement. I’m tempted to eat my grief away, but I know it won’t work. As a friend and yoga teacher once suggested (I paraphrase), “Don’t abandon yourself in the transition between poses. Keep breathing. Stay present. Make a conscious transition.”
So that is what I do.
A Somber Meditation
I feel my feelings as I alternately engage in the service and disengage to meditate. I had planned on attending the community dinner but found myself meditating as the service ended. I literally couldn’t move from the chair. I could hear people visiting and engaging in that sweet, welcoming chatter of the after-church community. I enjoyed hearing it around me as I meditated, knowing one day I would participate.
I don’t know how long I meditated, but the church was almost empty as I came out of it. Throughout most of the meditation, I felt a deep sadness that I had clearly been avoiding. I felt somber, knowing this was the last time I was going to be in the sanctuary for a while. I had not entered into the community in a way I would have liked. But I felt a part of it and knew when it was time, I could join in.
On my way out, Rev. Jonathan was talking with some church leaders by the door. I stopped and thanked him for welcoming me in and spending an hour getting to know each other. I appreciated our connection – it felt quite soulful and joyful – as I made sense of finding a spiritual home far from my physical home.
I know I will be welcomed back and that I can participate from afar. And yet, there’s nothing like being in the presence of other humans.
I sat on the veranda looking over the grounds, feeling the sadness yet again. I chatted with Tyler, the church administrator, empathizing about how complex and rewarding that role is. He, too, invited me back anytime.
I sat for a while longer.
Move Along – A Roadrunner’s Advice
On my way to my RAV4, a young roadrunner greeted me, scooting in and around the prickly pear in the parking lot. Last year as I was leaving, I met a roadrunner in Sabino Canyon. Roadrunners are quick-witted, quick-footed and focused.
They are a mark of adventure and are keenly aware of their surroundings and what’s happening nearby. As a totem, the roadrunner can suggest it’s time to get things done – to get a move on and complete that project!
As my time living alone in Tucson wraps up, I have several projects to finish and details to attend to. I am acutely aware that there are only 6 days left, and I’d better get on it! Roadrunner seems to be a signal to move along. I felt the sadness, the longing, the grief. Now, move along. Step back into life. Tidy it up and move forward.
Yes, it’s hard to leave home – even if it’s a temporary home. And yet, after a few weeks in Santa Fe discovering my new rhythm, planting my garden, hanging with friends, snuggling with Jake and the pets, it will feel like home again.
I am blessed to be polyamorous with two cities, and with that comes living in the transition with care and attention.