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Home Coming

This lush grass imbibed water all winter. At a certain point we worried if it would be too much for the landscape to endure. Rain trickled off leaves and wrapped its way down the street signs as I walked around Lake Merritt. For weeks, droplets plummeted from low clouds threatening to overflow the lake. To see it now in all its glory; glowing from the early afternoon sun is divine. I march through soft blades tickling the bare edges of my feet, roll out my yoga mat and lie down on my back. Beams of light warm my body and soon breath and movement do too. I move through the practice with the fuel of familiarity, playfulness and hopeful thoughts.

I was struck by this wondrous feeling as I touched my palms to the grass and again and again and again through my practice. Abundance flows towards me like a river. How had I come to that conclusion? I was nourished by great food and laughter, a good night's sleep and a peaceful morning to read. I was outside being smiled upon by the sky. I was doing my favorite thing: morning outside yoga.

During prior visits, I had arrived in Oakland with knots of uncertainty. I longed to see friends and rewrite the story of a place I only knew as “we.” As I drove into town, I never could erase the thoughts of “we’ve been there,” “we’d done that.” There is no cure. I know they plague you, too.

This time things felt different. I felt so welcome and cared for: two friends invited me to dinner, I was invited to practice yoga, offered safe places to sleep, joined in celebration of a birthday, caught up with good friends, went on a hike/adventure and spent the afternoon crafting. The entire weekend I felt a flooding of abundance. I was invigorated to be in community in so many ways that I had missed. My thoughts no longer circling around “we,” the tether was cut. The cord, pulled.

The parachute that burst allowed me to sail above the moments. In its amazing, technicolored glory I floated above the vibrant lake where I practiced yoga and saw friends, near the edge of the water between Berkley and the Golden Gate bridge. I hovered over the first exit I ever took into Oakland and the last house I lived in. I didn’t feel the pangs of grief. In their place I felt this glow: it radiated toward me, emitted from me, and dried the puddles of loss. I acknowledge that the grass only grew so full, green and soft after it had been watered by the winter rain.

I am charged with gratitude. Life brought me to this moment not by happenstance, I tell myself. I am right here for a reason. Foundation was laid and, though I had to go, I returned to a home built by others. Thank you for giving me another place to call home.

Let it flow,


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