The sun typically illuminates the moon.
The moon relying on the sun to be seen.
On occasion they come into complete opposition.
The earth interferes with the sun’s capacity to light the moon.
For a moment there appears to be total darkness.
And then the moon emerges more strikingly in the sky than ever before, full of deep, rich color.
The moon becomes something new,
The dark more luminous,
The sun still shining.
Adversity the catalyst,
Throughout the darkness.
Control creates the illusion of safety.
The more I seek control, the more insecure I become.
The more I allow myself to trust the not-knowing to result in wisdom, the uncertainty to to inspire clarity, and the gift of others’ feedback to grow my confidence, the less I approach life as a field of potential failures and instead find a river of opportunities.
The less I grapple with control, the more I understand how much there is to learn and realize how much I already know.
The deadline was met.
The difficulty has passed.
The challenge is complete.
Is there a way to just feel rest instead of collapsing into this state of completion?
Must dread and arduousness accompany the work?
Why have I created this belief that I need struggle in order to be worthy of the prize of rest?
Could I move instead from a place of ease in such a way that the work is joyful, the learning graceful?
Could challenge instead be reframed as delightful growth?
Yes, if I choose to make it that way.
It’s so hard to come out of this cocoon,
Perfectly fitting around me,
The barrier I need to dampen sensations and dull the sharp contrast of the outer world and what’s going on inside of me.
I arrive at the precipice of transformation, the seal broken on my familiar encasing,
The time now ripe for my evolution.
Thinking the hard part is past me,
The formation of this new way of being is here.
And yet as the cocoon slices open, there is no longer a sense of security, of the familiar, or predictability.
These new wings are wet and heavy, my footing unsure.
My nourishment and direction are uncertain.
Yet, I find the courage to spread my wings, scattering the newly applied and still wet coating that will ultimately protect me.
Now settling into this new being,
I look out at the vast horizon.
Vibrant colors, textures and shapes seem distantly familiar,
Invigorating my curiosity,
Reminding me vaguely of what I once was and what I now will be.
It is time.
I flutter my wings.
I am free.
Change can be a trigger for grief when I view it as resulting in something I don’t want, something that requires me to lose what I have.
But when change is received as a marker of accomplishment of a stage or triumph over a challenge, it inspires a sense of renewal and growth.
To receive change in that way requires diligence and optimism. It requires a belief in me that all of my experiences are opportunities to get to know myself better and to play in the dance of life with you, this body, this world, even if it means it looks different along the way.
In this way, change becomes not suffering but nourishing, evolutionary, and a source of freedom.
Grief…it’s not about the loss as much as creating and being able to access a little warm place in your heart where you hold that connection forever.
I used to think that grief was the act of severing ties and throwing away something special because it was lost.
But now I know that grief is a process of storing the memories of the specialness of every experience regardless of its labels, conditions, and how it came to be or not be.
Grief is experiencing the loss without getting lost.
Your dreams are never out of reach.
Because they are yours to touch, change, create or release at any time.
They can never be bigger, scarier, or beyond you because they are an extension of you,
Here to serve you,
Linked to your greatest potential,
Always with the intention of informing your highest good.
Taking flight,
balanced in the nature of giving and receiving,
knowing that leaning too heavily into one force or the other will take me off course,
Cause me to tumble.
In order to give, I must receive.
To receive requires generosity.
When I balance these complementary forces I experience the grace and ease that can only be realized when I move from the center of my being,
Wings extended,
Heart open.
Souring on the currents of life.
When you are suffering, my smile does not mean I don’t care. It may be that I am just opening my heart more in a time when yours may feel closed off.
I am holding a space of warmth and hope in which you can feel sad but not alone.
Allow my smile to soften your pain and be not a blinding light but a guiding light.
Feeling and noticing love and joy in others does not negate the loss. It just reminds us of our capacity to heal and honor loss without getting lost in it ourselves.
For each of us there is a layer that surrounds and holds our thoughts and feelings, that ties physical material existence to a sense of being. Built into the walls of that container are our beliefs, values, and desires, ever connected and blending with the feelings of others. These characteristics are what give the container strength but can also become places of vulnerability, weakness, and destruction. Stress fractures can begin to appear over time in the container where the values, beliefs, and habits are challenged, become inflexible and brittle.
Signs of wear or weakness are not markers of fault in the container, but a means for assessing whether repair or replacement could be useful. It may be the values and beliefs woven into that section are ready for reconditioning.
When I visualize the materials, tools, and mending — stitching the fabric, soldering the metal, molding the clay – and give myself permission to reshape the container, perhaps even layering different media, I can begin to fill and empty with experiences in a way that projects and protects the me I have come to be.
Monday Mindfulness 