Paths Crossed: Traveling Inward

Observations on the space between.

All photos and final painting by Rachel Sampson.

“Now all there is to do is sit in the clouds.” That was the message from our captain on Saturday eve as he announced that there was a severe storm passing over New York. We were not allow to land for at least an extra hour. I watched as the little graphic of our airplane on the Southwest app went around and around in a circular flight path a couple states west of our destination. We were in a holding pattern.

As the classy older woman next to me kept on reading—a New Yorker living in Nashville whose new normal is timing her Sundays to avoid church traffic—the rest was up to me. Who do I want to be in this moment? That’s the question over and over I keep asking.

I could have chosen the tense answer, my limbs stiff and screaming for space and solid ground. (Why is a plane the most miraculous yet uncomfortable way to travel?) I could have gotten myself nervous about the notion that it doesn’t seem natural for a plane to just levitate aimlessly, especially at slow speed (someone put me back into a basic physics or engineering class). Or I could actively choose to let go—the task of every minute of every day as a human—and allow the act of quiet observation to let in the beauty, unattached to the stories we weave, beyond clouds and control and a mind in motion.

My trip to Nashville last week coincided with the 5-year anniversary of seeing my mom’s last exhale carry her back to source, wherever that may be. But the trip was not about her. The energy was all about me choosing me, further etching in the top-line habits I am creating to becoming more of what I already am. How great that we get to keep on learning?

Still, the day was a bookend to these past 5 years, and I did catch a flash and a memory of the eternal, of interconnection, of nature and expansion, of that day and the April 24th of today. Of knowing we don’t get to understand what it all means, but certainly sensing the deeper answers available when everything goes quiet.

The space between us all is never not alive, even if not always perceptible. Let it sound woo-woo to you if you’d like. (I do recommend Lisa Miller’s book, The Awakened Brain, on the science of spirituality.) Before last Thursday unfolded in Nashville to adventurous end, I grabbed a pen to get down an intention that whispered through me:

“Teach me to see and feel and be here with the eternal.”

As sure as I sang three OMs into my mom’s chest after she died, that intention came alive in the sights and senses around me in Nashville, untethered from any stories about them.

Tiny Tuesday delights

Aunt Rachel time: My once 5-year-old nephew now suggesting we catch up at a wine bar in New York while he is in town is everything.

Finding magic in an MRI: I had my first MRI today. I had no idea what to expect, but it turned out to be wildly complementary to this past week’s experiences. In lying absolutely still for 45 minutes, the vibrational affects—despite the racket of noise—lulled me into an altered state, and my body is still buzzing. I do understand why this experience would be a feat for those who can’t sit still. But it felt very comfortable as someone who meditates—and who just last night tried a psychotropic breathwork class, which opens up a powerful state of sensation and energy. I mean is an MRI not magic?! A machine that uses a magnet to align the hydrogen atoms in water molecules within our body, then pulses radio waves to excite these atoms? And when these atoms then return to their original state, they release energy that is detected by the machine? Like I said, perception is layered. So as someone working to receive, to fall into these spaces and let go, I turned the appointment into a practice.

Life cycles: I’m virtually seeing the climbing season commence on Kalymnos, the spring coming alive in the verdant colors and big smiles of a community of friends returning. Most notably for my heart, I received a photo from a friend of her daughters now vs then—the passage of time layered onto old ruins we’ve all posed next to before. May is one of my favorite months on this island. If you happen to be a reader who has also enjoyed climbing here, Rebolt Kalymnos is a new and worthy initiative to support those who tirelessly make this climbing paradise the continually safe and supportive space it is.

Lena, 2019.

Incremental work: Shout out to a friend I’m so proud of, who sold her book last week. I’ve had the privilege of witnessing how such a thing moves from seedling to solidity, via a weekly creative conversation and accountability date we set up and started together just over a year ago, born over dinner in West Hollywood.

Next up: I bring you back-to-back talks with two women artist friends who are adventuring, climbing, and creating cosmic characters we can all see a bit of ourselves in.