Kayce Stevens Hughlett

Like a string of ants, the notion of inhabiting hopped in my suitcase and followed me home from France. [Read or re-read Lezli’s lovely post here. Or make a List Elle-style here.]

What follows is a post I recently shared with Abbey of the Arts. The invitation was to describe my way of being a monk in the world. As I wrote, I realized this is also how I approach being an Elder, a gardener or SoulStroller, and so much more. It is my way of inhabiting life.

“The moment of pause, the point of rest, has its own magic.” Howard Thurman

In the wee hours of the morning, I sit and remember how essential the moment of pause is for living as a Monk in the World. This October I am grateful to take a respite from travel and sink into the magic of turning leaves and dry-ish temperate days at my home here in Seattle.

When the Abbey invited me to share my own experience of being a Monk in the World, I knew these words would bubble up in this threshold season between Summer and Fall, Fall and Winter. And between my callings to be out in the world: Europe in September followed by November in Australia. It is a dance I do as a Monk—loving the cozy nourishment of my home hermitage and feeling the strong call to follow ancestral threads and artistic callings in other corners of the Universe.

One might think of a trip with packed suitcase and airplane tickets as its own pause—a vacation or vacating of one’s life, but, for me, travel (whether in my mind or on another continent) is a time of inhabiting and sinking more deeply into the exquisiteness that is available if only we have the eyes to see. If I can inhabit, infuse, ingest, and integrate the magical moments of pause when I’m out in the world, then it becomes infinitely more accessible when I return home.

Even the idea of “home” has changed its tenor as I continue to live as a Monk in the World. I take my home with me wherever I go. My footsteps, journal, paints, and poems all come alive in the moments of pause. Like in music, the pause is both a thing in and of itself, and it is the prelude to what follows, to the spiraling more deeply inward so I can be more present to the world outward. That is why I stroll, rest, paint, write, create, pray, and travel—to move more fully into who I am, on behalf of the greatest good. When I allow space to listen to the still small (and sometimes loud) voice that lives inside me, I am building resilience, connection to the Divine and others, and my own magic. I am following my path as a Monk in the World.

Instructions for a journey
(inspired by Christine Valters Paintner & Writing as a Sacred Practice) 
Begin with gratitude for the spark—not the flame or the tornado—but the still small voice that says Go.
Honoring these two letters, GO, is enough to begin.
Offer grace for yourself, your body, your thoughts – even the wild and wicked ones that keep you awake at night – the ones that berate or say it’s too late, you’re too old, too young, too needed where you are. Offer them thanks, then pack your bag or pick up your pen and Go. 
Go to wild lands where fairies dance and houses walk on chicken legs. Where old men cuddle roosters, and tiny girls dance exotic stories. 
Jettison all you think you need. 
Remember what is most important: curiosity and hospitality. 
These duo ways expand the world like the simple letters: GO
They are portals to the world, 
Offering gifts exactly where you are. Young bodies become wise. Old bodies limber. There is no age limit or social status or border crossing for being curious or welcoming the stranger.
So go, dear one, go now. 
 
Ksh 9.20.24 Toulouse, France

So, dear gardener, how will you more deeply inhabit your life? What do you feel when you hear the invitation to “Go. Go now” ? I’d love to know! (Comment box below ;)