Do you know what happens in the body when the mind or spirit decides that change is imminent? You do. It’s one of two reactions, usually. Either one of gripping; intense grasping, clinging to a feeling, idea or physical expression with all four limbs, wrapping piteously around it refusing to let it go. Or there’s a sense of quiet, not quite acquiescence, but glazed awareness; a deep rumbling of butterflies like a child feels when the buds of spring begin to show signs of summer. When the vibrant color begins to mingle with deeper warmth. The impending shift, while fully cloaked in mystery, is in a way welcomed from the very pit of one’s belly. An almost animalistic thrill. The unknown is scary, either way, but our reaction can go one of two ways…clench or set free.
We know that the only constant in life is change. We know this. We know it to our bones. Does it make change any easier? Any less scary? Nope. Not usually. Not for all the tea in China, most of the time.
I’ve been feeling a change coming. At first I entertained the idea of this life shift with skepticism. I called out my daydreaming, the harsh internal voice of reality rather dictatorially saying the grass is always greener on the other side, eventually this too will grow cumbersome. The shiny newness eventually wears off…of everything, eventually. That’s reality; a fact. But was it enough to throw me off course, keep me from continuing to entertain this idea, the self-dangled carrot in my peripheral vision? Nope. Not for all the tea in China, it turns out.
Days later I’m still entertaining the idea and all the more seriously now. The entertaining has moved into physical action. Preparations, of sorts. Making things happen. Setting intentions into motion.
This morning as I emerged from savasana post-yoga practice, I noticed a little rumbling deep inside. Gentle quaking of my very nucleus. A seed had been planted and, as though watered throughout the nights as I sleep, it had sprouted roots. My questions and doubt blossomed as the sinewy roots wove their way to my core, synchronously. My change had begun to grow. This morning I could feel a subtly shuddering crack in the surface of my doubt, as though being touched by echoes from canyon far, far away. The powerful roots had thrust their way through the gruelingly dense rock that is doubt, fear, uncertainty. I felt a sprinkling of butterflies. Childlike butterflies, though, not adult butterflies. All I can compare this sensation to is that of springtime as a kid, the end of school so near I could taste it. The warmth in the air clinging to my skin, my knapsack growing lighter with each passing day, a reminder of the inevitable change lurking on the simplistic horizon. Time simultaneously carrying me closer to a transient freedom and farther from the evanescence of childhood.
I felt that way this morning. Butterflies. Change coming. The innocence of the unknown gone but replaced by a comparable lens. The simplicity of trust. The chasm of ease that is surrender. Deciding to float instead of grip. I didn’t make the decision consciously, so I can’t take credit for the satisfying free fall. No, I made lists…more lists, some annotations, jotted on post-its, went ’round and ’round in my head over which path to travel. Imagining each separate road, journeying off into the sunset of reality on two separate horses of two totally different colors. Sometimes I just wish people would make decisions for me.
But then, ask and you shall receive. A higher force is moving me down a middle path. A path of trust. Surrender. A perspective which offers the best of me, offers this to both paths, and let’s them do the choosing. My dream-weaving angels who tinker with my mind while I rest have bade me relinquish control. And so I have. And so the decision is made for me. I will let the destined path choose me.
There’s no way for me to know at this stage whether or not my change will come to fruition. Well, let me rephrase that. My change will come to fruition. There’s no way for me to know in what form the Universe will present me this change. Which path the Divine Mother will lead me down. As though it’s up to me…I laugh at the silliness of such a notion. Yes, I can manifest, but the Divine has a master plan whose own roots are ever weaving, ever changing course. Ever leading us all in the direction we are meant to go. A single drop of rain can change one’s course entirely. Think about it.
I can’t know if that drop of rain will bring a steam or an ocean. Such different ecosystems; river to stream to brook to pond, lake to puddle to creek to sea. Intricately different and equally stunning. So whatever receptacle decides to catch my rain drops, I know there are layers beyond layers into which I will sink. Comfort that I will create. A home, however fleeting, that I will make. We make a home where we are, it is our human nature. Even if it’s a bus, or a hostile, or maybe it’s a house where we’ll spend the rest of our days…we make a home where we reside. We make a home in one another. Our relationships become a home, house our souls, preserve the intimacy that’s so carefully grown in the fragile space between two people. Come hell or high water, we make a home in the most harrowing of circumstances. It’s how we persevere. Acclimating as best we can to even the most impermanent circumstances.
So I suppose I really oughtn’t be surprised to find out I’ve made a home in the limbo of change, two potentials suspended in the balance. Palms upturned, butterflies releasing from the creases of my fingers, the white fading to pink as gripping melts into liberation.
Do you know what happens in the body when the mind or spirit decides that change is imminent? I do. t’s one of two reactions, usually. It’s the latter that’s chosen me.