Have you ever had a moment in time you wished you could live inside forever?
I’ve just had a week of those. At the end of August, I got to live in a suspended reality somewhere in Southwestern Montana with my tribe. It was our own kind of college reunion, celebrated over the week of our beloved Friend’s birthday.
I’m finding it hard to articulate how profound this trip was for me (and for all of us, really).
It’s impossible to describe how much these people mean to me, except to reiterate that this is my tribe. After years of absence it took only moments to settle in, to snuggle up and recall the dynamics that make us a family.
photo by matt holmes
Maybe I didn’t realize how much I needed this. How much I needed these people.
How much I needed the crunch of real earth under my feet. How much I needed fresh air. How much I needed crickets and critters and wind instead of taxi horns and street noise.
The lady above once sent me a Richard Brautigan poem:
Karma Repair Kit: Items 1-4
1. Get enough food to eat,
and eat it.
2. Find a place to sleep where it is quiet,
and sleep there.
3. Reduce intellectual and emotional noise
until you arrive at the silence of yourself
and listen to it.
4.
This trip was my karma repair kit.
Simple, in the most meaningful ways.
Profound, in the least precious way to describe it.
Quiet, by which I mean not silent,
but glowing, breathing, vibrating peace.
It’s cathartic, wrapping yourself up in some of those who know you best.
It’s cathartic to practice yoga on your Friend’s birthday, to practice savasana on a day you are so aware of death. And to feel at once sadness and gratitude. To feel an invisible string tied to each person lying on that deck, so strong that you feel compelled to take each friend’s face in your hands, kiss them on the cheek, and tell them ‘thank you – I love you.’
photo by matt holmes
And while quiet is important
Every once in awhile, you need to hike to the highest point and scream.
photo by estee clifford
Scream with joy and anger, pain and revival, survival, this surreal reality.
Scream in fear and acceptance, gratitude and awe, audacity.
Scream for presence and for preservation.
Maybe you need to scream to find the silence of yourself.
