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finding calm

Silence

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Two months ago (how has it already been 2 months?) we moved into our house.

Prior to our move, I was anxious. Anxious to pack, anxious to move, and anxious for the transition.

In particular, I had about 9872134987 feelings about leaving the city. We knew that buying a house and moving to the suburbs was the next step in our life, but, I was worried.

I worried that I’d feel isolated and away from everyone and everything. I worried about the silence.

“I love how in the city there’s always noise,” I told someone. “At night I don’t have to worry about the creaks and noises I hear in the building or outside, because there’s always noise, so nothing is worrisome. I love being able to step outside of my door and have everything right there, everyone out and about. I won’t have that when we move.”

But the day came, and with tears streaming down my face when we said goodbye to the apartment we had lived in for 3.5 years (our first home), we left. And with a lot (a LOT) of help from my parents unpacking and doing projects, and perfectly-timed text messages from a friend who just always knew exactly when I needed her to check in, we settled in.

And something happened.

I fell in love.

I love our house, and our street. We are not in a rural, country town – but our street happens to be the one that goes right through a wooded area. The trees are everywhere, there is green everywhere, and I swear, it’s easier to breathe here. I began walking, often – morning or evening, because stepping outside brings an instant calm. I see bunnies and deer, chipmunks and squirrels, but mostly, I look at the trees, their branches, the green against the blue skies. I hear the birds chirp and the trees rustle. I listen to the noise – which very often, is non-existent. And as it turns out, I like the silence.

As the weeks passed, I realized that I was exhaling deeper as I drove home from work and got closer to home. I realized that on the days I went into the city to meet a friend or go to an appointment, it was actually more overwhelming being around all of the smells, sights, people, and noise. I realized that I looked forward to going home.

So – here’s to our cozy home. Here’s to the woods, to trees and to green, to birds, to stillness and to silence. Here’s to growth, and to the next part of our life. Here’s to finding calm.

Here’s to loving it.

Colored lights

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Tonight in yoga, I attempted to focus on my breath, something that has been quite difficult for me lately. I tried to set an intention, as we were being guided to do, but I immediately got overwhelmed and tried to do it all: I wanted to breathe in courage and happiness and lightness and freedom and safety and so many more.

As I began to imagine my breath as these feelings, trying each one out and seeing how it felt in my body, colors took hold. And I initially found this surprising, as colors have continued to fail me over the last few months – but they appeared, slowly, gently, timidly.

I began to breathe in a sparkly, light blue light, that swirled around me for a round of breath. I sent it out on the exhale and a glistening pale green light took its place. Next came a deep, glittering red light. In and out the colors swept, washing over every cell in my body, exhaling the fear and doubt and confusion. I didn’t know what each color meant or represented, but it didn’t matter. My body thirstily drank in the magical, colorful lights for most of my practice. The colors matched my breath, healing me from the inside out, up the chakras, through the cells, breathing space and lightness deep inside, into the dusty and blocked off corners of my being.

When thoughts started to take hold of my brain, a gentle yellow light softly melted the thoughts away. When a muscle began to tense, a breath of orange softened it. When I forgot how to breathe deeply, a radiant indigo light opened me up. Wave after wave after wave. Focusing on them. Allowing them in.

Until my head was quiet.

Until my body was relaxed.

Until I had all of those intentions – courage, happiness, lightness, freedom, and safety, swirling inside of me – for a split second. And I grabbed it. Held it. Cherished it.

And breathed it out.

Knowing. Trusting. Believing.

It would be back.

The colors would be back.

Breathe.

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[written Thursday night]

It has been taking me the better part of a ninety-minute yoga class to focus and steady my breath. I’ve been reaping some of the benefits after class, finding some deep, cleansing, renewing breaths on my walk home, and as I get ready for bed later that evening.

Tonight was the first night that my body truly relaxed. As an aside, or maybe as an important detail, yesterday was the first day that I felt like myself in the better part of two weeks. Two weeks of hypersensitivity, feeling raw, anxious, and down, had left me disconnected from my body, it sore and aching, and my mind racing.

I spent yesterday and today moving back into myself. And tonight during yoga class, my body allowed the breath. Rather than fighting it, rather than screaming, “Please, stop forcing this breath into me! I can’t hold one more damn thing, there’s just no room for it!” my body decided it had room. It tested out a breath here and there. Allowing it in. Allowing it to wash over me and swirl around.

And before I knew it, I was moving to my breath, with my breath. My body was breathing. Body parts were synchronized. They stopped arguing and fighting. They relaxed. They were still.

It felt so damn good to breathe, to truly breathe. Freedom. Release. Energy. Hope.