It is a quiet Monday with a morning-like feeling that has drifted into the early afternoon. The business of the seminar weekend is over and so far today the only sound I hear around the seminar house is the birds chirping outside.
This past weekend we hosted a group that does Gestalt Therapy. They are a regular group here at the Seminar Haus and long-time customers. So, they were quite surprised when they received some news this weekend. The Seminar Haus has decided to close. I feel a sadness in me even as I write it, but after many long years of hard work and an unusually slow season the decision has been made. It’s funny, even though I have only been here for a short while and understand the decision… I still find it hard to believe it is closing. I guess as with everything, there is a time to stay or hang in there and there is a time to let go and move on. Things come and go in our lives. Nothing is permanent.
I have learned this lesson so well as much of my life and my world slipped through my fingers in the wake of Hurricane Katrina. Today my relationships and my life is very different from before Hurricane Katrina. The remnants of my belongings are kept in a small closet-like storage unit just outside of New Orleans… and even that I am conspiring with local friends to be rid of as I plan for future travels beyond my one year adventure. As my belongings and many friendships and relationships have changed or fell away like sand drifting through my fingers, here in the midst of the latest change at the Seminar Haus, it seems for me there is still more to let go of. It is not always clear to me what that is, but they live now in my life in the form of ideas, old attachments and resentments, my identity – who I think I am or who I think I should be. In the ebb and flow of change, it continues to give way.
This seminar weekend was a little crazy for me. Like a car sitting in the cold of winter for months without use, I found myself a little slow as I attempted to start my engine to shift from the silent pace of my winter life to the quickening of preparing the house and then working this weekend at the seminar. A quick shift from months of quiet days with time to myself, I found it a stretch for me to extend myself and my energy to the more intense pace of a typical seminar weekend – a busy house-filled with guests, earlier mornings, full days assisting with preparation of food and cleaning up after meals.
Even amidst feeling somewhat frantic and squirrel-like in the activity of the weekend, I noticed and felt a shift within myself and my relationship to the participants of the seminar world. In the past working the seminars I was nearly unseen in kind of shadow in the kitchen. I now take heart in seeing, feeling and being more connected to the returning and new participants. As the guests left this weekend I was grateful to receives hugs in departure. It felt so good to be appreciated and to hold onto another human being, even for a moment, as they left on their way.
One participant asked me this weekend, “how long will you be here in Wettenbostel? are you planning to stay?” “We will see” I respond as I am still exploring new places to be and visit. I have to trust what is next for me will unfold even when I am uncertain…
My only defense in my changing world when it feels that things are slipping away beneath my feet it is to continue to practice being present. This weekend a seminar guest, also a fan of Dan Millman, shared that Dan says we are all peaceful warriors in training. I appreciate the in training part as I often notice my feelings and emotions darting from side to side. Lately I find I need to exercise, go take a run just to allow some of its intensity to leave my body.
The weekend seminar has come to a close and I take a little time to feel my feet walking on the soft ground around the Seminar Haus. Connecting to the earth and the golden fields, I do my best to return to the only place that is now home to me. The quietness of the moment. And noticing the tenderness and strength of my own heart… even amidst what feels like an instability. Alas, I see it is true. Nothing is permanent. And I do my best to soak in the moment and allow what is gone or is leaving to be on its way.
Gypsy Woman 