moss and the wind

finding practices of presence inside what’s new

For me, the delights of travel are found in small moments—of serendipity, whimsy, miracle. Even in the “big” moments, such as turning into a steep fold of fjord or reaching a waterfall at mountain top, it’s the small moments inside these moments that allow what resonates to permeate and imprint something that matters (beyond postcard pictures or voyeuristic storylines I might tell).  

What’s interesting to me is how much of a challenge this can be. There are endless opportunities to cling to linear (3D) time while traveling… itineraries, maps, lists of places to visit, keeping track of days, remembering train times, bus schedules, and which boat to take when. Even writing during travel requires getting past the listing of what I’ve done, how I’m feeling, what I want to try next. I need to write for at least 30 minutes before I feel like I’m even beginning to do what I’d call writing.

It's a beautiful thing to be inside the practice of learning something anew that you feel you know quite well—to find a fresh opportunity for beginners’ mind. When I’m at home, I’m quite practiced at depth and nuance of presence (or at least I think I am). Presence in the ordinary, the steadied rhythms of my neighborhood, my alley and cemetery walks, the wild of my garden, the play of my cat, my assortments of objects and their bountiful surprises. Yet now, away from “home,” I’ve allowed myself to discover ways to be present in the ordinariness of moments that are entirely NOT-ordinary for my nervous system.

For me, the key is to get out of my head. While in Bergen, Norway this past week, I’ve found two beautiful practices that have helped me cultivate a delightful spaciousness of presence amidst layers of unfamiliar. I didn’t think about these as practices as I was practicing them. I simply did what my body and intuition invited me to do. I listened, followed, and was delightfully transformed.