“I join the living ecosystem before me and know I too belong, right here, right now. Enough. Inherently and already enough.”
Photos from San Juan National Forest, southwest Colorado.
Over the last few years, I’ve upended my life with a bunch of changes: shifting my creative focus from visual art to music, chanting, and song; leaving a secure job and all its benefits, and a place I’d called home for nearly two decades; and relocating from the Midwest to the Southwest. I moved from a dense, fast-paced, resource-rich, and diverse urban environment to a rural one that is comparatively different on every level, in the process joining a new community where I didn’t know anyone. So Much Change.
I was motivated in large part by a sense that there must be more to life than a focus on work and productivity, feeling constrained by a professional structure that no longer fit so well. I had grown deeply depressed at my academic job and experienced major burnout, which forced me to acknowledge an intense desire to explore other aspects of my life beyond the confines of work and its emphasis on intellect. Emotionally, creatively, spiritually, even geographically, I longed for something else.
Of course, the uncertainty of so much change, while opening the possibility of a new way of being in the world, also comes with fear and risk: not knowing what’s ahead, the usual financial insecurities, and a kind of existential dilemma from no longer defining myself in old, familiar ways. We don’t escape ourselves by leaving our jobs or moving halfway across the country, yet we become untethered from known contexts. That untethering is both the benefit and challenge of change.
In terms of where I relocated—the mixed high-desert/alpine-forest wonderlands of southwest Colorado—I was also determined to live in a physical place that fed my soul. I sought an environment that offered wild energy, direct and daily access to nature, and generous space for healing and transformation. For the first time in my life, living close to nature, and not a job offer, was the guiding criteria for my address. I moved to a part of the country that resonates deeply in my bones.
Throughout all this change, the main grounding—other than wilderness and the land of my new home—was the constancy of my spiritual practice. Over a decade ago, in response to the stress of my former job I started meditating and then gradually added yoga, adopting these ancient practices for utterly secular and utilitarian reasons. Yet, what started out as a pragmatic way to deal with stress led to much more profound revelations. About the way unconscious emotional reactions shape my perceptions and the way past conditioning and ego influence my choices. About the wisdom of the body and a nascent strength of spirit. I became aware of disconnected parts that wanted integration and the delusional thinking that keeps me small and separate. Mindfulness, Buddhism, and a new-found spirituality slowly brought about the evolution of my life that led to change. At the same time, these practices also equipped and prepared me to weather the storms brought about by change.
For me, within the context of wild nature, the transformative impact of these teachings is even clearer.
Through the practice, in the quiet of the natural world, I find peace in this moment. Free.
I open to the sun and sky and calm the anxiety produced by an active, questioning mind. Content.
I take a full breath, connect to the ground, and feel the support of the earth. Home.
I join the living ecosystem before me and know I too belong, right here, right now. Enough. Inherently and already enough.
Whether by choice or by the unexpected, one’s material conditions change. External situations can be radically different to what they were, throwing you into a tailspin of uncertainty. Yet the mind/body/heart persists, ever adaptable, itself ever changing, just like the rest of the natural world. We grow, we learn, we respond with care and wisdom. We let go of the old and embrace the new.
I am grateful to experience the power and constancy of a spiritual practice. I am especially grateful when I can embody that practice in nature. May both continue to be a buffer against change, disconnection, and the fear of the unknown.