Have you ever been on a strenuous section of a hike, where all talking finally ceases?  The effort to traverse the path takes 100% concentration.  No excess energy can be squandered on conversation.

These past four days of blog silence have been a conscious and concerted effort to preserve my resources.  Like a trailblazer on a crumbly cliff side footpath, far from home with a 45 pound pack, there has been no room for error.  No time to chat.

Interestingly, my two greatest disciplines – writing and yoga – the very rituals I deem as the bedrock of my days – went on pause over the weekend. There is rarely a circumstance that would allow me to usurp these daily practices.  Yet, I found myself on an uphill climb with significant weight, and it captured every ounce of my attention.  My reality became finely honed to one foot in front of the other, one breath at a time.  Nothing more.

Metaphors aside, what the heck was I doing?

Moving to a new house.  With a sore throat and major head cold.

For three days I’ve been blowing my nose, chomping on Jeb’s chewable vitamin C’s and schlepping boxes up the staircase of my new abode.  Instead of practicing sun salutations, I’ve been on my hands and knees, face mask in place, scrubbing gecko poop from the far-reaching baseboards of my closet.

All the creatures of my rural farmhouse dwelling have been saying their goodbyes.  The chickens have congregated to my neglected rack of bananas outside the bedroom window.  Roosters with their puffed up chests, make cocky announcements about who’s the boss of breakfast.

And Saturday night, after I collapsed in a heap of tissue on my bed, I was awoken by a centipede bite around midnight – right in my armpit.

Just about all of my boxes have now been moved.  Jeb and I are living out of our suitcases for these last three days.  I am seeing the light at the end of the tunnel.  And I wake this morning with clearer nasal passages.  This morning I will resume traditional yoga postures.

Though I’ve been steeped in the potency of pure moving focus, I’ve still experienced moments observing with my writer’s eye.  I’ve still had glimpses of yogic awareness.

I’ve paused to sit on my new balcony, surrounded by potted succulents and ferns.  I’ve seen sunlight stream through blue glass at my kitchen window with a different view.  I’ve taken a deep (yet congested) breath and moved my boxes, one at a time, staying soft and flexible, opening to new possibilities despite challenges.

(Ok, I took a lot of homeopathic flower essences to stay calm, too.)

And in the desire to sow the seeds I want to reap, I’ve given thanks with each baseboard sponge wipe at my old home, grateful for all the house has gifted me these past two years.

Despite the spiders and gecko poop, crowing cocks, copious mucus, endless stair climbs and a centipede in my bed, this move has been relatively smooth.

Though at times I’ve felt like I’m in some strange movie, for the most part, I’ve stood engaged with the moment in this unique precipice of change.  Poised with one foot in the past and one in the future, I walk away from the old and towards the new.

Three days until these posts stream from a new desk at a new address.  There won’t be many roosters at my new pad.  So as annoying as that teenage chicken can be this morning, playing king of the hill on that over-pecked banana rack, I’ll soak up his sunrise crows.  He offers some screeching chime of a reminder – stay present – one breath at a time.  Follow this thread all the way, moment to moment.  From old to new.  Familiar to unknown.

Love the journey.

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