It's all sacred
Reflections and a check-in from my cross-country road trip.
After over a month on the road, we arrived in San Diego just after sunset. The sky was a misty softbox of pinks settling over the city's hills, and night would soon envelop us, leaving us to wonder about the details of our new destination until morning. There have been a few places we’ve arrived at in the cloak of night on our journey west, and it delights me when I am offered that chance. There is a magic that lies in the mystery of night when only the stars are clear, and everything else is a silhouette.
When I woke up in San Diego, I was delighted to see that our temporary home was a corner unit with a bay of tall windows that looked out to a bustling downtown. To the left, there are hills speckled with homes and palm trees, and to the right, a rolling fog whimsically settles across the water. I have to admit, it was a bit jarring to land here after the many days spent in the wilderness of the Southwest—my ears are unaccustomed to the sounds of sirens and cars and planes—but having the sun warm my arms with this panoramic view as I write to you from our balcony has me feeling grateful.
The journey to the West Coast has felt wild and wonderful, and time has felt slippery and unserious.
I don’t know how to explain this, but ever since departing for this trip, my brain has felt like a pile of mush. Anything that had been there before has slipped out and was left somewhere behind me, and any plan I had has been forgotten. I have had no choice but to simply exist. And breathe. And look out the window to watch the landscape morph from green to tan to rich rust. Ogle at the vastness of the plain lands in West Texas and touch the soft, sparkling dunes of White Sands. Sink into the magic of the red rocks of Sedona. Delight at the smell of the air in Santa Fe, ask questions, sip cacao, and purchase handiwork from Diné and Zuni artists I meet.
Although I have little sense of time or place right now, I can still sense a feeling of closure. And this closure feels bigger than just one year—it is the closure of a gnarled and long period of my life, a release of the grief and the twists and turns and strange edges I’ve encountered. I can feel that I am entering a state of release and repair.
It was in Sedona that I reached some clarity in this new state of being. Looking out to the hills with a hot cup of coffee, my journal opened on my lap, I heard a clear message to fully step into this emptiness I am feeling. It is safe to be here.
And it was in the red rocks, in the vortex of Boynton Canyon, that I began to understand the magic of the emptiness. I listened to the crunch of earth under my boots and was awed by the patterns of the bark of juniper trees. Arriving at the peak, I found an indent in a boulder that perfectly rounded to my body and I sat there. I closed my eyes to breathe and felt a tickle of joy trail up my spine. The air transformed around me and I was transported to the beach in Israel— my favorite place in the entire universe. My grandfather, Momo was here with me too. After taking a deep breath, I asked my inner knowing, “What do I need to know?”. Earnestly and rapidly, words began to flow out of my empty vessel.
After a few minutes of writing, a message came through to share with you:
Lead with happiness. Live with more lightness, listen and act with joy. Be good, feel good, honor your body. Breathe more. Connect in, connect with others. Make time for tea and dinner and nights gazing up at the stars. Listen for the animals, listen to your friends. Have an open heart and an open mind. Use plants. Feel the dirt, be in awe of the trees and of nature. Sing more, play more, grow more. Choose joy, choose fun, always choose your inner child. Grow like a well-tended plant in fertile earth. Touch the earth often. Listen for your ancestors and heed their guidance.
Know that you are here to do great things.
After Boynton, we climbed to the birthing cave, a generous reward for an uphill rock scramble. I tasted cacao on my tongue and heard the call for more gathering. A few minutes after arriving, more hikers joined us. Funnily enough, they were mostly women—the energy felt like an ancient call to sisterhood. We all chatted, filling this sacred cave with laughter and voices, sharing a bit about our journeys.
On our way to town to watch the sunset over the mountains, I found a place to have some cacao. I sipped it slowly, savoring every drop as I filled my vessel with its rich flavor. Something old and true had been awakened in me.
Yesterday, I walked along the shore, my pup running and jumping at my calves with pure delight. I listened to the waves crash into the sand and watched surfers run out to the water, boards tucked under their armpits to catch the last hours of daylight. I thumbed a small smooth rock in my hand, perfectly tumbled by years of Pacific waves. I stood in awe, reflecting on all that I have already witnessed on this journey West, and what still lies ahead.
I am excited to discover what magic will continue to unfold and share more stories with you.
Shabbat Shalom✨.
Really loved what you shared 😀
Exactly what I needed to hear, right now. Shabbat Shalom!