The Open Door

Updated: Jan 13, 2019

I have lived on the side of a hill, a small mountain, in Woodstock, New York for the last several years. This home has held me, nurtured me, and grounded me during years of intense work and travel. It was where I went home to be in solitude, quiet, and to be close to nature... But as 2018 closed, I knew it was time to let it go, to move on. What at one time had been a gift was now becoming my own small box of time holding me back from embodying the new.

At the end of December, I also had the blessing of a friend's visit–Cara–to help me see through the transition of leaving and to simply witness and be present as I packed, chose what to store away, what to take with me. I am in awe still of her presence and help–the profound understanding that the best way we can help someone at times is to simply witness, to be present. And during our daily meditation, it was a gift to be able to share the energy and presence of this land with her. On New Years, we stood on the ledge looking out over the Hudson Valley and we raised our arms to the setting sun, to the releasing of the old and the welcoming of the new, offering our intentions, our invitations up to be graced with acknowledgment.

If I thought that 2018 was a year of tremendous transition–leaving my academic and administrative career behind after nearly 20 years–2019 was asking already to take that transition to an even deeper level of Being. And so I and Ruby are journeying across the country to the west coast. We woke up this morning in Lexington, VA. after our first day of travel. The sun up and the chill air made getting out for a walk with Ruby both invigorating and challenging. But the one message that came through so very loudly was, "This is the last leg of a journey you've been on for a few years now. You will understand after this, the true nature of your work." And the thing is, nothing feels more true than this brief missive. And while I have moments of fear and trepidation, there is a greater certainty I am doing the right thing.

It's hard to believe what I've been shown already on this one day old journey....

But first, here's another truth: as we expand energetically more fully into the truth of who and what we are as a Soul being in human form, what has been and what we've done to make our way in the world no longer matches, aligns, with who we are becoming energetically–in the true size of our being. What we've manifested before in form no longer matches who we are becoming, and we either shed it easily or wrestle it off like a long worn constricted sweater. So, periods of transition. Periods in which we need to be willing to exist in the unknowing or not-knowing–the letting go more deeply of what was in order for the new to come into expression. And yes, sometimes more easily said than done....

Yesterday, as Ruby and I left the Hudson Valley, left Woodstock, I was visited by two profound images:

a. A first nation young warrior, leader, standing in the middle of all these objects–

objects of a life lived, a way of life that had been dismantled through both

violence and at other times thoughtfulness. He stood amidst these many

sacred objects of our ordinary lives and picked up one object at a time and held

it up to the Universe to hear its voice–to know if it was still aligned with the day,

and to know it in its new weight. To experience his face, his expression, his

reverence as he lifted these to the sky listening for their trueness, their value,

their utility in the new world... As I drove down I 87.... to feel this... to hear,

" is the first greeting of the day...weigh these objects, these

meanings, these endeavors of your life...."

b. The second was of Kubat–dear friend–from Kyrgyzstan. I met Kubat Jusubaliev

through his daughter, Jamby. She and I had become fast friends at the

American University of Central Asia. Kubat was, is, a deeply regarded Kyrgyz

writer--his work banned by Soviets for years and only recently resurfacing,

receiving the recognition it has long deserved.

Kubat spoke few words of English, and in truth, my Russian was as poverty-

enriched as his English. But we still shared such deep heart-based, soul-based,

communication. Having endured rejection, alcoholism, isolation and more for

many years Kubat retreated to the Pamir Alai in southern Kyrgyzstan, into a

remote village. There, he built and found a new life–practiced yoga, meditated,

devoted his life to understanding what it means to be human and to love and

be aligned with nature–he has become revered all over Central Asia, as well as

become a dear friend of the Dalai Lama. Jamby and I visited him whenever we

could–she too so loves the village life, the environment there, the life both

quickly and slowly disappearing. To her, I owe much gratitude for including me.

All day, the smell of Kubat's home and kitchen kept wafting through the car as

Ruby and I began to make our way south. A smell I associate only with him and

the distinct traditions of his kitchen and village. It is a sweet smell, a smell of

lived life, of the nuts and fruits drying, the oils used to cook–all of it intermingled

with smoke and having lived intimately in a space and known it through tea

and coffee and the remnants of a day spread 'round. All day, I found myself

saying to Kubat, "Yes. Ok. Finally, I am choosing the path you saw there all along

in front of me–my true Being in the world." Even as I write these words, the

sweet smell comes through, and his eyes, the knowing communication between

us, the quiet, and the walking barefoot through the orchard he planted . The

intimacy of spirit, of the most compassionate heart garnered through having

lived and found one's way to one's true nature. He is one of the few people who

has carried the deepest and longest sense of 'home' to me–that deep, deep

connection to Source, to love...