Being Home

I awoke this morning, grabbed my computer and a hot cup of coffee, pulled the drapes back, and situated myself on the couch. When I activated my computer, this song began to play. It stopped me in my tracks. Before going to sleep last night I put on a Native American Chant Mix that lasts about an hour. I was hoping to hear this song, but my computer battery died. Instead of plugging in my computer I decided to roll over and go to sleep.

So when starting my computer this morning, this song began to play before I even logged in. It was the very next song on the mix. I listen to it now while I'm typing, and it is moving me to tears.

You see, seven years ago I showed up in Steamboat Springs, Colorado without any idea of why I landed there instead of Aspen/Snowmass where I really wanted to be. In my mailbox one Sunday was the Steamboat newspaper that had a large picture and article about a shaman who had also just moved to town. I didn't know what a shaman was then, but I knew that I couldn't get rid of the article or picture of him. I put it on my table where I could see it from just about anywhere in my apartment. I knew I knew him. There was a connection that I couldn't place, but I felt it anyway. So I made an appointment to see him. Within weeks of that meeting I began to work in his office. He opened up a world to me that I did not know existed, and for the past five years since leaving Steamboat, I haven't lived in that world -- until now.

That world he introduced me to has come back full force, full throttle, bigger, better, more magnificent, and truly ripe with many possibilities. I did not know how much I missed it. Instead, for five years I got to play someone else. I got to try on personalities to see how they fit. There were many parts of those personalities I liked a lot. I had some fabulous times, met tremendous people, made extraordinary friendships, and laughed excessively. What I've learned though, is that all of that is not enough.

In 2004 the visions of Aspen began. They stopped for five years, and now they're back. I saw myself living there, working there, thriving there, being the light that I am there. What I discovered was that I needed to go on a five-year excursion of other experiences to be able to show back up with an authentically open heart and pure love. I had to experience a lot of what wasn't me to be able to excavate the real me.

I sit here right now on the couch watching the cars pull up. It's Christmastime in the neighborhood and relatives and friends are making their way to the neighbors' houses. I sit alone... No, that's not true. I sit here with a room full of magnificent beings who clothe me in pure love, and I can't help but have tears spill out of my eyes. I am overflowing with gratitude and excitement. I do not have a plan. I have a knowing. I have a tremendous feeling of going back home, being in a place that has made room for me. I feel this so strongly that I cannot express in words what I know to be true.

I sit here and breathe in the love surrounding me and filling me, and I wish that for all. This is home, this love. It is everything.

Oh, and the Native American Chant with which I stared this post? My shaman played it almost daily in the office. He certainly played it during our shamanic journeys. That music takes me back to a place within where I have always felt at peace and always considered to be home.