A long time ago I smoked a fair amount of pot, did quite a bit of yoga, ate a lot of sprouts and refused to acknowledge the validity of western medicine. I danced naked under the full moon and painted myself with herbs and minerals to increase body temperature and oxygen flow. I walked barefoot through the forest, trusting my "oneness" with nature to keep my feet safe, and sat for hours listening feeling being the wind in the trees. I've lost months to meditation, stood on picket lines, and spent endless hours discussing the evils of the establishment. And the universe supported me in this by surrounding me with people who shared my lifestyle. Then one day that wasn't who I was anymore, the truth of my being slid a little bit. And that was OK too.
I, who had taken pride in never being the first owner of anything and wanted little, somehow just accepted a sudden need for new stuff and a savings account and even a couple credit cards. So I packed up my prayer flags fortune telling cards and moved to the city. I took a regular 9-5 job (my first and still my only) at a major corporation and threw myself into my new life. I stopped walking barefoot and learned how to strut in spike heels. I traded the pure light of the moon for the smokey neon of dive bars. I forgot about fresh fruit and organic meat and embraced the drive through and the deep fryer. And the universe supported this too. I met wonderful people who guided me through this change. Girls who taught me about eyebrow waxing and navigating the mall and how to have career goals (I never really got the hang of that one). Girls who taught me about four dollar coffee and how it's somehow better than what you can make at home. All these things I learned and lived and was happy with because they were the truth of who I was at the moment.
A few months ago, all of that started to slide again though. Like the first rock skipping down the hillside, oblivious to the avalanche it will start, came a friend who is the master of the material life wearing a shirt that said "Namaste Motherfucker". I began to see a longing for what I had put away in other people, and to meet people who were on the path home. I started to miss my prayer flags and second-hand gypsy skirts. I could feel it all coming back to me and I began to remember the language of nature and how good it felt to honor my body with delicious food. I've slowly been working my way back to my natural self (in spirit, anyway) when the final push came. I met a woman who never really left, and just by being who she is she's simultaneously made me homesick and shown me how to get home.
In honor of the new moon today, the moon of new beginnings, the first moon I've consciously acknowledged in years, we did 108 sun salutations. I'm still riding the high of the constant movement of the body's prayer and revelling in the quiet symphony of muscles coming awake. I feel much more in tune than I have in years, on the road home and even though I'm trying to enjoy the journey there's a part of me that's like a barn-sour nag and can't wait to get there.
Namaste, motherfucker.
