The last month, two, three, have all gone rather quickly. I was in Japan, then LA, then the Bay, and now, I’m setting roots in Oakland. I’ve become accustomed to picking up the pieces of my life, putting them in suitcases, and meandering on.

When I do, what remains? The core of me, a foundation on which all the experiences flow atop like tides of the sea, leaving impressions, beautiful scars, memories.

I suppose that’s what I do. What I enjoy. Garnering novel experiences.

Yet it’s that core which matters. I’m just trying to understand it better. No matter where we go and what changes externally, our essence remains. So we can run, flee, wander endlessly. But if we don’t peel back the layers to appreciate what’s going on inside, we’ll never be free.

Lately, my writing has been all about traversing my inner landscape, spirituality. But there’s a lot going on in my life externally. That is why I’ve been writing about spirituality.

I’ve needed it.

Spirituality doesn’t mean shutting out the challenges of life while sitting on a mountaintop in perfect serenity. It’s the opposite.

Spirituality is letting the world in. Facing it. Breaking down our inner walls so all of life may flow unobstructed.

Even if we’re stressed or in the midst of adversity, we may aspire to alter our inner world rather than the outer.

That’s a spiritual being; that’s whom I’m striving to become, a man who embraces all of life — the pain, the love, the sadness, the beauty — while joyfully drifting in the ocean called Unknown.

All things considered, it’s going well. I feel good. Pretty darn content despite having very little “figured out.”

Last night, my girlfriend and I moved into our new apartment. We have barely any furniture since the both of us have been on the move for years. It’s gonna take time for this place to come together. But it’s ours, it’s surrounded by trees, it creaks a bit, and we love it.

We have our things, some artwork and ceramics, a mattress and our clothes.

A new beginning.

It’s my first morning here. I’ve landed. I pause. Breathe. Do what I do to feel like me: exercise to start the day.

There’s a lake in Oakland that I run to. On the purlieus of the lake sits a pink set of pull-up bars and a dip bar. Beside it there’s an overhanging sign with arrows pointing in various directions, Berkeley and San Francisco.

After a couple of sets, another fella arrives. We say hello and when I leave he gives me a thumbs up and a genuine smile — have a good one, man!

I pass a group doing tai chi on the grass as I run around the lake, dodging duck poop and lawn mowers. The sun is out, the sky clear and blue. There are others running, walking, vendors setting up tables to sell coffee; the energy is good, the lake glistening, the future bright.

It’s my first run here, so I’m getting my bearings, probably going the long way home as I snake through some charming neighborhoods nestled atop steep hills.

I end up at a corner store and figure I can buy some cleaning supplies — you know, moving things. The owner of the store introduces himself, Ali, and welcomes me to the neighborhood.

As I walk back with the supplies, sweaty and happy from the run, I pass beautiful old homes and unkempt flower patches lining the roads. Vibrant orange poppies, yellow ones too.

Roses in bloom, watercolored dusty reds. Their petals curl like burning paper, as if shedding what’s been written. The flowers do let go, unfurling like desert roads, opening like a river breathing, relaxing, expanding.

Like my chest, my body, the mind, the heart — we may open too so as to let all of life roar through — rich like the sea breeze, clearing out what we hold so tight, making room for morning light.

Stay open.

These two words encompass everything. Pain. Change. Being here now. This is the essence of spirituality — to let life flow through open hearts.

To stay open, simply don’t close.

Things aren’t perfect — they never can be — but I’m here, doing my thing, enjoying my time on earth and working on myself.

Because we can’t change what goes on outside. So we close inside when there’s nowhere to hide. In doing so, we deprive ourselves of the life which yearns to blow through us like ancient wind; we close because we’re afraid of being hurt again.

Tensing our shoulders, our stomach and chest, we close our heart so nothing may reach it. It hurts to close, but it’s safer than the alternative.

Staying open makes us vulnerable. To pain, and also love. The love which pours through the soul of all things, billowing as inspiration, like steam from a weathered cup.

Anything can make us close, even the sound of the moon fading from the sky.

Only we may stay open, and that’s the greatest adventure we may hope to take, ambling through this world and asking to be tested, as it’s not just what’s out there that tests us.

We test ourselves with every thought, as an arbitrary negative thought conjured from the deepest well of our psyche can be made manifest in the blink of an eye. So what do we do?

Instead of closing, we breathe.

We relax our muscles. We marvel. Laugh at the absurdity of the mind, its instability like Jovian skies, continually conjuring storms from empty space. We simply observe it. Those storms are miraculous, aren’t they?

We don’t close, and we take the ride.

All of life longs to flow unobstructed.

Flowers yearn to bloom with sunlight, spreading their petals wide. The ocean constantly churns; rivers flow like energy, qi; the same rivers flow between you and me.

To stay open is to trust the way things are and what they might be. To have faith in the universe and believe things will happen as they’re meant to.

Because I don’t know what I need to do to get to where I need to go. I mean, I’m doing what I can, the things which bring me joy, all that I have control over, which really isn’t much.

We can never know precisely what actions are necessary to fulfill our destiny — each soul’s reason for being alive. We all have a destiny without a roadmap to arrive. We don’t know what we must do to get there, nor what will just happen by itself.

We just have our experience, whether we’re enjoying the journey, or not. Which means we may just let things be, enjoy what is, and surrender.

This is what I’m practicing. Staying open, speaking words of victory, love, encouragement and faith to myself and the world. Letting myself and all of life flow without my interference. And when things feel good, that means we’re flowing. We’re on track.

And if they don’t feel good, well, there’s a lifetime of inner work to do.

I like it here.

The people are kind, real. I admire the architecture. It’s old and historic and gritty. This place has undeniable character, an unpretentious charm.

It’s clear that Oaklanders have a lot of pride in their town, and it’s really just cool how friendly people have been so far, as it’s all about community. That’s something I haven’t really had in a while.

Summer’s here. The vibe is right. I can’t imagine what’s in store.