Earlier this year, I decided I wanted to get away for a month, a real sabbatical. To leave Los Angeles with its traffic and noise and a pattern of living so ingrained. At first, there was excitement, a month away. Living a different life than I had ever given myself permission to experience.
Then I got scared and panicked. Maybe not a month, but two weeks, or one week. Or maybe just stay home. Piggily wiggly running all the way home.
But then, taking a deep breath I stepped back to the source of the invitation. To live a life fully, to get drunk on life. There was nothing I had to prove. No badge of courage I needed to earn. This was for me and my Soul. With each breath, I let myself sink into a vision.
To sit by a creek, the day warm and the waters cool. The sounds of tumbling quieting the noise in my head.
All around, it is so green. The colors are intense, dark greens and bright, forest greens and emerald. The floor of the forest is thick with mulch and new seedlings. The sun passes through the branches casting a kaleidoscope of shadows on the ground.
I watch the waters for tiny fish, water skaters, even crawdads. Spider webs glisten with dew. Everywhere there is life happening.
I am my senses. The smells. Did you know the day smells different depending on the time? Morning, afternoon, evening. As the sun warms the trees, the soil, the moss, my sweat.
Sounds. My ears are like tuning forks turning this way and that. Of course, hearing the water, but even the water is not one sound. There are many threads of water that tumble over this rock and around that one. That catch on a branch, lift into the sky and then land as 100 different little percussive hits on the shallows below.
Then beyond the water, tuning into the forest behind me. The branches touching each other with the breeze, insects buzzing, birds conversing. The beating of my own heart.
Deeper still, to the Earth herself. The sweet inhale and exhale of the great Mother. I find that my breath moves into sync with hers. Big deep inhales and slow, such relief, such letting go, exhales.
Then taste. I stumble at that. I wouldn’t dare taste it; it might be poison. But as a child, I had no such fear. I used to eat dirt. What if I let go of fear and trusted taste?
The water is cool and fresh, with just a hint of algae and stone. I lick the rocks, run my tongue over smooth and rough surfaces. Taste salt and ancient life. I feel the crunch of tiny particles between my teeth.
I go on relishing this adventure in taste. Onto the green. Some are delicate like a blade of grass. Some are tart, many bitter and hard to chew. There is the occasional blossom I bite only with permission; the most delicate of petals that melt on my tongue, tasting of vanilla or honey.
I’ve enchanted myself with this writing. The fears dissipate. The fear that I might get lonely or bored. That I might find myself pacing a room, seeking escape in television or a book. Afraid to be with myself without that stimulation. Just like I often do at home.
But I feel my Soul whisper, “You have yearned for this forever, you have called it in. The wind has heard and answered. Now, my Love. Now is the time to journey.”