Wow. So sort of overnight I changed my life entirely, without realizing how profound this move would be. Of course I knew it on a surface level, as I was leaving Malibu, leaving a house I loved, leaving a life-style that fed me constantly. And on this side of it I realize that subconsciously Geoffrey and I both knew that living so isolated in the middle of nowhere was serving Nikki less and less as the years passed and that ultimately we would reach a tipping point where it wasn't good for her. We actually reached that point two years ago, and yet we held on to our life on the mountain. And then one day we were passing an Open House on the lake and we went in for fun and Geoffrey looked at me and said, "We should buy this house and move here for 4 years while Nikki is in high school". Of course my answer was "I know" because I did know; I had known for some time. We slept on it and the truth only became more apparent - it was without doubt the right thing to do for our girl. With that, I turned my focus entirely to buying the new house; it fits our needs perfectly and I did not want to lose it to the other buyers who were circling. Once the house was secured, all my attention went to packing the pyramid. And once moved, all my energy (maniacally so) went into unpacking. Then of course, reality set in. And there is so much, SO MUCH to this new reality.
First, Nikki is much happier here. She rarely had friends to the pyramid as rides were always a thing and for the past two years she has been embarrassed by how remotely we lived. I don't understand how that is embarrassing and to a teenager apparently it was brutal. Now she invites friends over; they swim and go out on the boat and have fun. Last night her boyfriend came over. She walks to Starbucks, to get her nails done, to pick up lunch. She "has a life" now that most of her free time is not spent in the car going up and down the mountain. She hangs out with us a little bit more as she likes to be in the family room. She is already so much more independent and free. What a blessing! In a year and a half, she will learn how to drive, something that was likely not an option on the mountain. Now she can learn on flat, straight, well-lit streets. This is good. And we can keep an eye on her throughout high school, as we plan to trick-out the loft in her room as the ultimate teen hang, so that our house becomes the place to be. So she's all good.
Me, though, that's another journey. I knew how much I loved my house, that was obvious. I didn't realize how much I identified with living there and how much I relied on it for sustenance. The pyramid house, the land and the mountain are sacred, and entirely magical to me. I regularly saw things that took my breath away - the fog, the light moving across the ocean and canyons, the sunset, the moon set, the stars, the birds, the coyote, deer, and more occasionally the bobcats and mountain lion. My walks were magical, surrounded by all of the above and held by the ancient sea bed - the rocks, fossils and caves. I was constantly being fed by that place. And now I am in a lovely house, in a gated, planned community that has streetlights. STREETLIGHTS. In the middle of the night, my house is flooded with artificial light streaming in from three sides. I have to close the blinds against it. The artificial light steals the moon and starlight; in fact I cannot even be in perfect moonlight, even when it's full. At the pyramid, I always knew the approximate phase of the moon by the feel of the darkness or light around the house at night; not so here. So now I get to make a concentrated effort to follow the moon phases based on a calendar rather than my own senses. That's cool; eventually I will know the calendar innately and my body will learn to integrate the days of the moon perfectly. That seems to be the thread here - in this house I will learn now to navigate life a bit differently. The things that were 'easy' on the mountain - quiet, stillness, peace - will need to be found in other ways, through different channels than simply sitting down and allowing the place to wow me. Although the lake is beautiful, it's not as showy as the mountain - it is more of a constant, subtle beauty. I am already growing different eyes to see it. I am learning the myriad birds who live here and nest in the surrounding trees. And the trees here are so beautiful - I have already made new friends among the Standing Tall Ones. As far as people, this place is an entirely different vibe from the mountain and Malibu. I don't see myself reflected much in this community. And you know what? That's cool because I am strong enough to be a different kind of reflection for them. That's also why I'm here.
And so, I will be with the lake and learn what it has to teach me. The pyramid was all Fire and Earth; this place is Water and Air. Hmmm, feels like a necessary and balancing cycle. Perhaps this is why my meditations are so deep here - I drop in deeply almost instantaneously, like I do when I'm in Hawaii. I can't count how many times I've wished that my meditations were so easily deep at home...and now they are. Here I even have a meditation room, filled with all my stones and books and tools and it's become an incredible sanctuary.
Also, I have committed to making great use of all the time I used to spend driving and waiting. I am diving deep into Kundalini yoga and it no longer feels like I have to aggressively eek out time to do a long practice. The benefits of that in every single aspect of my life are tremendous, beyond description. And I'm writing. Regularly. Words, again, fail to convey the happiness writing brings to my life.
Geoffrey and I have a different life here, one that is more active and social. This also feels like a necessary cycle and one my body is pretty excited about. And so, I'm here. My intention to rock this place is beginning to pan out. Three weeks ago I could feel the possibility of being sucked under into a sadness I couldn't name, and I had to rely heavily on all my tools (another gift) so that I could facilitate my experience with excellence. (Gratitude to all those who held me; I could feel you and it helped!) As our life here begins to emerge as clarity, as grace, as a new and exciting adventure, I'm diving in. Literally.
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