it took but four days away from this city for all my urban-survival-mechanisms to go into standby mode and for my ability-to-screen-out-distasteful-stimuli to grow weak from lack of use. under the canopy of redwood trees this weekend, on the soft bed of branches and moss, with light breezes tickling our faces, I wanted to hear everything, notice everything: the slow illumination of my tent as dawn arrived; the crackle of butter in a hot cast iron skillet sitting atop the bright flame of the propane stove; jocelyn singing her blessings to us before we ate our meals, her voice strong and faithful; hot logs snapping and tiny explosive sparks whizzing their way skyward from the fire; the rustle of my fellow campers as they twisted and turned in their sleeping bags, deep in slumber, the brisk crackling of twigs from their hurried walks when a midnight bathroom break was in order; our deep breaths in and out as we held hands around the altar, imagining our deep roots intertwining and supporting one another.

now back in the city, i hear bass pumping from cars that are driving far too fast down my street; offensive calls from drivers who disdain bicycles; slamming doors and police sirens; hurried voices and fast-clicking heels walking down the streets; domesticated animals confusedly calling for both attention and freedom; the cloying ring of the miniature electronic lifeline that my eyes and thumbs are habitually glued to when in the range of cellular towers that bleat out addictive connection signals.

what a contrast...

yet i find myself drawn to both poles: the quiet, serene and beautiful and the rough, harsh and dilapidated. for too long, i'd been immersed only in latter, but this weekend reminded me of the need to temper the harshness of this city with serenity that surrounds us at its outskirts.

this weekend was, as kathren said it would be, an initiation. an initiation into a different way of being, a way where my passions hold hands with my purpose and i say, without hesitation, yes...