The Ever-Changing Life

Learning to stay close to the rhythm of change.

Since the clocks changed, so has life at Cosmos’ Cabin. I didn’t handle the shift very well at first, but I’ve finally adjusted. The days are growing long and warm, even though in the shade, you can still feel the chill of winter’s last exhale.

Lately, I often don’t need to light the fire in the morning—unless I wake up very early. Like today, when the cat was chasing a mouse around the bedroom at 5 a.m., leaving me no choice but to come downstairs. It’s a full moon day—a full moon in Libra, they say—arriving to illuminate the truth and rebalance our relationships. I feel it in my bones.

I’ve been practicing more regularly again—actually unrolling my yoga rug and doing the practice. Winter wasn’t kind to my usual routine, where I liked to practice first thing in the morning. I remember living in the city—one of the best feelings was waking up very early, when the night still wrapped the world and everything was quiet. I loved splashing lukewarm water on my face and stepping right onto the rug. It set the tone for the whole day.

But winter in the cabin didn’t allow for that. The cold crept in through the floorboards, and my breath fogged the windowpanes as I lit the first fire. My body moved slowly, bundled in layers—more bear than human. My first task each day was to make the house warm. As the day passed and I became absorbed by the beauty outside, it grew harder to focus and commit to practice. I tried different routines through the winter months, but I can’t say I found one that truly worked.

Another thing I’ve noticed since moving here is how the lines between yoga, daily chores, gardening, work, and cuddling with animals and other creatures have blurred. I’ve become blurred with this place—I no longer know where my body ends and the surroundings begin. I feel less like a distinct entity and more like part of the whole. The inherent relatedness to my natural context and to all beings feels more alive than ever.

I remember my teachers saying that over time, the difference between yoga as practice and yoga as life fades away. I feel that now. My life often feels like practice, like learning. And my practice often feels like life itself.

Trusting and surrendering to life was something I learned through my yogic studies. It didn’t come naturally to me before. When life starts unfolding in the way you wanted, it’s tempting to think, this is it, I’ve arrived. But then life gives you more. The more you surrender, the more you receive. Sometimes it’s confusing—because life moves faster than your thoughts, and your mind hasn’t yet dreamed of such beauty.

When life feels overwhelming, I like to sit still in silence. Walking through the forest nourishes me too. Yesterday I foraged a little lungwort and coltsfoot. Their leaves were still soft with dew, and the coltsfoot’s bright yellow faces peeked shyly through last year’s leaves. Not much is growing here yet—except for love.

Lately, I’ve also been thinking about Tommy Dixon’s writing on commitment before we’re ready.
Commitment to a place, to a person, to a dream or a vision.
And then—commitment to change.
The change of season, the change of place, the change of dream.

The full moon pulled me out of bed this morning—and maybe out of something deeper, too. They say it comes to illuminate what’s ready to shift, what needs rebalancing. Maybe that’s what commitment really is. Not a fixed decision, but a quiet willingness to keep choosing again and again. Choosing warmth. Choosing presence. Choosing love. Choosing to stay close to life even when it moves faster than our thoughts.

"The only way to make sense out of change is to plunge into it, move with it, and join the dance." — Alan Watts