Tonight I did one of my favorite things in the world: the New Moon Ritual at Anahata Yoga.
Oh my Lord.
I have been going to these workshops for about a year now, and tonight was different from every single one before it.
At one point, I had a thought I don’t think I have ever had in my life:
I don’t want to go home.
And I don’t mean my house. I mean home home.
I mean returning to outer space, returning to Source, returning to whatever matter I was before I embodied this body and became Brooks and began living this particular human life.
For once, I didn’t want to return anywhere. I wanted to be exactly here.
It was an incredible experience because the feeling wasn’t contentment. It wasn’t surrender. It wasn’t serenity. Those are feelings I know.
This was something different.
It was a complete awareness that all is well. Everything is exactly as it should be.
I am where I am supposed to be. Things are unfolding as they are supposed to unfold. I don’t need to rush forward or reach backward or figure out where I’m going next.
For that moment, I simply knew: Here.
And I grabbed onto that feeling.
I put it in a little box somewhere inside myself because I know there will be moments when I forget. And when I do, I want to be able to open that box and remember what I knew tonight.
All is well.
That is what these workshops give me. They thin the veil. They thin the veil between where I stand and wherever it is I connect.
And what a gift it is to have somewhere I can go on a Saturday night and spend three hours completely devoted to myself, surrounded by other people doing exactly the same thing.
Think about the energy of that.
A room full of human beings intentionally turning inward. Letting go. Receiving. Healing. Listening. Creating. Becoming. Each person doing something individually, while together creating a ripple that reaches far beyond the room.
You can feel it. You can feel the energy of someone experiencing something new. You can feel the energy of someone releasing something old. You can feel the energy of receiving.
It is magical.
And I cannot express how important it is for me to have a place where I can go not only to see other people, but to be seen—and to see myself.
That’s the part. To see myself.
I will chase experiences like this for the rest of my life. I am a lifer at these workshops. There is truly nowhere I would rather have been tonight.
And the funny thing is, I don’t even know most of these people. But I love them. That’s increasingly how I feel about everybody.
I don’t know you, but I love you.
You’re my friend. You’re my sister. You’re my brother. You’re another human being breathing the same air I breathe and walking around this Earth at the same strange, miraculous moment I am.
So I love you.
I love the person beside you. I love the person across from you. I love the person behind you.
Tonight, on October 10, I felt all of it.
I felt the energy of planting seeds. I felt the energy of tending what I have already planted. I felt the energy of receiving what is ready to arrive.
And more than anything, I felt excited to be here for it.
I’m excited for October. I’m excited for the rest of this year.
I’m excited for sports and holidays and changing seasons. I’m excited for the equinox and the winter solstice and all of these beautiful markers reminding us that time is moving—and we get to move with it.
Tonight felt like a doorway into the rest of the year. And I walked through it thinking: Let’s go, October.
I’m here. I’m staying. I’m ready.
The energy is pumping through my veins tonight, and one sentence keeps returning to me over and over again:
It takes a certain darkness to see the stars.
And maybe that’s why we close our eyes when we meditate. Maybe sometimes we need the darkness long enough to finally see what has been shining around us the entire time.
Boom.
