To be a witness

5/22/25 - A day in Salida

They say the mind is a great student but a terrible master.

Somewhere between yoga on the beach and sitting by the river in the mountains, in the in between, my mind took that as a challenge.

From the moment I stepped foot back in Texas two weeks ago, my thoughts began to pour through me with the pressure of a fire hose. Blasting me from skin down to bone.

The limbo of it all.

Limbo (5/16/25)

I have found myself sitting between the edge of who I have been and who I am becoming more times than I can count over the past year.

Whether it was waiting to board a plane or to leave my old home and life behind.

The thrill of the next opportunity calling out, and the awkward two weeks leading up to it.

Do I make more lists? Clean more corners of my room?

Should I try to make some extra money, or should I spend all I have on gear and things I might need?

If this is who I have been and this is who I am becoming, what does this make me now in the midst of new things?

I grow weary of limbo, but also love it like a grumpy old grandpa loves his grandchildren, with annoyance.

I have found that limbo is where your truth lives - it is where boredom makes room for creativity and old memories make you aware of needed investigation.

In limbo, I see old lovers in my dreams, bad habits coming out to be known, and the opportunity to rest ever present.

When I am in limbo, I write more, I clean more, I sleep more, and I dream constantly.

So in limbo, my thoughts became my master & and as my limbo grew shorter, they became louder. More demanding of me.

On the drive to Salida, I was all consumed. One after another after another. No space in between each thought, all linked together in a tireless stream.

Snagging and tearing at the seams of my sanity.

And then I crossed the threshold. While listening to an episode of Alan Watts Being in the Way podcast, I began to witness.

To witness the thought.
To witness the witness of the thought.
To witness that witness.

Then a new thought would come.
I would bear witness to the witness, to the witness of the witness.
Thus, beginning to create space between the thoughts.

A moment of yoga.

Rather than connecting millions of thoughts together, connecting myself to the space between.

The non-judgment

The observation

The relief.

So for the past 24 hours, I've found myself witnessing. In downward dog & walking down the sidewalk.

If it wasn’t the most vulnerable of thoughts, I’d even walk you through them, but just know, even the bold, and loud, and joyful, have to witness their shadow, even in the most beautiful places in the world.

In each moment of witnessing, I feel my life energy (chi, prana, inner light) gathering once again, refilling my cup to poureth over.

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Does everything taste better in the mountains?

The chai is spicier

The salted caramel ice cream is saltier

The sushi, dare I say, fresher?

It could be the dopamine pumping through my veins because I’m finally here. The place I told myself I would be back in December.

Maybe it’s he novelty? Everything feels new to me because it is new to me.

Or is it something else altogether?

Is it that the community of artisans who care deeply about the art of making things?

The chai - not a sugary concentrate, but freshly steeped and spiced.

The ice cream - creamy and infused with flavors.

The sushi - made under the watchful eye of whom I can only assume is the owner.

The community here cares about its artists, its environment, and its small businesses.

When you can’t find what you are looking for, they tell you where you can find it.

When you look a little lost, they point the way for you.

And I, for one, think that makes everything taste better.