It’a already March, and the first full day of Spring is just two weeks away. I’m usually full of inspiration and excitement this time of year, but today, I’m still feeling the subtleties of winter hibernation.
The Heart Sparks Rest and Renewal Retreat was everything I imagined and so much more. We laughed, we lounged, we shared, we made art, and each retreater fell a little more in love with herself.
The week before the retreat, it snowed in Sedona. The freeway was closed just north of the exit to Sedona, and more snow was forecasted for the retreat weekend. With all of the planning I had done, everything was now up in the air. Would the roads be closed on the way up? Would we get snowed in once we got there? Would I have to cancel the retreat and refund everyone’s money?
The day before the retreat, four of us decided to caravan in the morning, so that, if we did have to turn around, we’d all be together.
That night, all I could do was pray and let go, and wait until the morning to see if the roads were open.
And they were. It was a clear and easy two hour drive north to our cabin, and the snow-dusted red rocks were stunning. We all enjoyed the brisk, wintery chill in the air, the rushing water in Oak Creek, and the constant fire in the wood stove.
We danced, we walked, we shared delicious meals and deep conversations about music, intentions, and deviled eggs. We talked about thresholds, and what we were leaving and entering. And we played with fabric collage and slow stitching to create unique artworks that expressed our experiences and self-reflections.
We decided to close the circle a day early, ahead of another snow storm. One retreater, who has a truck with 4WD, and experience driving a school bus over snowy mountain passes, was happy to stay another night for a solo adventure. She sent pictures of six inches of snow on Sunday morning, and I was so glad to be seeing them from the comfort of my own bed.
It took a full week for me to return to regular life. I realized I had been holding the idea of the retreat for almost a year, planning, imagining, advertising, and then cancelling the beach retreat, and then doing it all over again for the Sedona retreat. I had outlined the schedule, arranged the meals, and handled all of the logistics, and I was doing fine holding it all. But the uncertainty of the weather took its toll on me.
Unlike one retreater, who had a huge aha about returning to playing her beloved viola, I did not have a flash of inspiration about what’s next.
Exactly the opposite.
My message was all about resting in the now. Resting, not as in tired, but as in leaning back, and basking in all that I have created, shared, and received. And not just at the retreat, but this whole past season, and year.
For the first few days post retreat, I was happy to stay at home, watching TV, walking in the neighborhood with Tillie, riding my bike, and just taking care of the essentials. I did a lot of journaling, processing and assimilating all of the gifts and revelations from the weekend. I finished my fabric collage, and lingered in bed with Tillie every morning.
That week I had planned to return to the wonderful new yoga studio that I found, where the teacher talked about the breathe, and alignment, and radiating our hearts, but I was still feeling the need to stay tucked in, close to home.
Instead of berating myself, or analyzing my resistance, I focused on where I WAS making changes: adding fruit to my morning bran flakes, making my own granola, preparing a week’s worth of veggies, adding standing poses to my morning stretching, reclining in my favorite chair in the backyard sun.
It’s now a week after the retreat and I am still moving slowly, but I am trusting that this pace is just as much a part of the Flow as when things are pinging and rushing and happening.
I truly feel like I am a different person, which is something I said often during the retreat. My whole body feels more spacious inside, and kind of floaty. I feel intensely connected to something bigger than myself that is truly guiding my steps, so that I don’t feel the need to control or force or rush anything.
At the same time, it is so easy for me to fall back into worrying about income and money and the future. If I’m not working, and I have no housemate, how can I continue to afford this lifestyle?
When that happens, I cry to release it, and then I redirect my heart to embracing all that already is. Sometimes I can even begin to imagine how else I might want to feel. I eventually let the worry go and come back to the joys of the present moment, but it’s an ongoing practice and conversation.
I remind myself that I have always lived in this syncopated flow of money, never really knowing where it was coming from, and trusting that there is always enough. I also realize that I’m ready for a more stable and consistent flow of money for more peace of mind.
On my walk with Tillie this morning, I gave myself permission to take a little more time off, to not push or rush forward, but to continue to bask in all of this until the first day of Spring. To lean in and connect with the joy, to luxuriate in this life I have created, even trust in some spending on myself, and linger in the ending of winter, feeling the feelings, and rejoicing in all that is right here.
As uncomfortable and unfamiliar as this all feels right now, I know I am standing at a brand new, wide open threshold, and that amazing things are right there, calling to me from the other side. And I know that the bigger I trust, the bigger the prize. The more uncomfortable I feel, the closer I am.
And the more I listen in, I really can hear the winking of new growth and spring-like excitement.
I am thrilled to offer the one-day Fabric Collage and Slow Stitching Workshop at my house on April 1st. It was such a powerful and engaging activity for my retreaters, that I want to share it with you. Details are below.
And I just found out that the cottage I’m renting this summer in Arcata, a cozy college beach town in Northern California, with the ocean, bays AND redwoods, will be available sooner than originally planned. BIG YAY!!!
So Tillie and I will be back at the BEACH at the beginning of May. Just thinking about it lifts my heart and makes me happy. (And, of course, it sparks that worried-about-money conversation all over again.)
Thinking about my birthday makes me happy, too. It’s March 20, the first day of Spring, and for the first time in forever, I would really like to receive some birthday cards. So if you’d like to fill my heart with delight, ask me for my address.
I shared this excerpt about thresholds from John O’Donahue’s book, To Bless the Space Between Us, with my retreaters. I invite you to consider what threshold you are now standing at, and how you would like to cross it.
“At any time you can ask yourself: At which threshold am I now standing? At this time in my life, what am I leaving? Where am I about to enter? What is preventing me from crossing my next threshold? What gift would enable me to do it?
A threshold is not a simple boundary; it is a frontier that divides two different territories, rhythms, and atmospheres. Indeed, it is a lovely testimony to the fullness and integrity of an experience, or a stage of life that it intensifies toward the end into a real frontier that cannot be crossed without the heart being passionately engaged and woken up.
At this threshold a great complexity of emotion comes alive: confusion, fear, excitement, sadness, hope. This is one of the reasons such vital crossings were always clothed in ritual.
It is wise in your own life to be able to recognize and acknowledge the key thresholds: to take your time; to feel all the varieties of presence that accrue there; to listen inward with complete attention until you hear the inner voice calling you forward. The time has come to cross.”
I hope your threshold from winter to spring is filled with ease and delight and beautiful awakenings. I’d love to hear about them.
