Sitting on a bench at the edge of the continent, I felt at peace with the stillness. I watched the waves surge to shore, allowing them to lull me into presence.
For three days, I waited for insight to appear, guiding me on the next steps I should take. I felt completely open to whatever was next. During my time at the Hermitage, my meditation felt deeper and more relaxing. Sleep was easy. Hunger from boredom dissipated.
I was ready to know why this particular geography called to me for the past several years. I’ve felt in flux for the past three years. It’s the feeling I get when I know change is occuring.
“It feels like I’m on the precipice of change.” I hear myself repeating to those closest to me. And yet, for three years, this elusive change has hovered in my mind, never becoming a reality.
Curious to know the answer, I looked through past journal entries noticing the repetition of this knowing that something was about to change. But the more I thought about it, I saw that it was my ego looking for an accomplishment and my desire for more connection.
I recoiled at the discovery. It was a familiar urge I’ve known my whole life: the gold star, the adventure, the passport stamp, the things to make me feel more alive.
The message from my first day came through once again, “All is well.” Realizing I put so much pressure on everything in my life to have meaning and importance, I saw how my mind gets in the way of me truly experiencing life. Forcing meaning robs simplicity of its power.
All is well was the message all along. For me that means stop forcing and worrying about the ego’s attachment to what’s next.
All is well…what’s next is right now.
I’ve been sitting with this and processing it for the past two months now. The power I gave the future has kept my mind anchored everywhere but right now. I noticed things I held onto from the past that required forgiveness and fears about the future that required surrender.
In three days, 3 words created a profound shift for me. These three words were the exhale needed after 44 years of holding my breath.
On the final night, I walked up to the chapel to participate in the evening’s vespers. The chapel smelled like church, musty and old. The monks sang a few songs and then invited guests for a 30 minute silent prayer or meditation in the rotunda.
As I entered the rotunda, my eyes were drawn up to the redwood ceiling, curved perfectly to hold the sound of silence. I chose a spot along the wall with a meditation cushion and closed my eyes. The silence enveloped the room. Every so often I heard someone shift their position and then a pine cone would fall on the roof reverberating the sound of a tree letting go.
I smiled at the poetry of the noise, letting go creates an echo and takes work to release. And then, silence returned. There is a light at the end of this tunnel; all is well.
Powerful and beautiful. Thank you for sharing