
I may not always be able to see clearly,
But I can always feel clearly
When I accept that where I am is where I am.
I may not always be able to see clearly,
But I can always feel clearly
When I accept that where I am is where I am.
To cross the stream, I search for stones that seem fixed despite the moving waters.
These stones suggest a level of safety in my crossing as they seen unmoved by the current,
stronger than I could be on my own.
Is the stream really too deep and forceful that I need the stones or
can I make the crossing?
I question my capacity to carry myself,
despite the quiet flash of reassurance in my belly suggesting I could navigate the waters just fine on my own.
I turn instead to the stones’ promise to hold me.
Without hesitation, I step wildly, quickly, with hope that they will be what they appear to be.
I put my trust completely in the stones
Only to find them unbalanced, slippery, unable to hold me, and
Depositing me completely and fully into the water.
My trust in the stones vanishes into the darkness.
I fight the current…the message…trust no one.
Suddenly the flash returns…trust…trust yourself.
It doesn’t have to be steady, clear, easy, or look a certain way.
I dive into the self-reliance that holds me, guides me, connects me with the edge of safety.
There in that moment I find trust on the inside that inspires more reliable trust on the outside.
“Prepare your doors for departure and cross check, please” said the pilot before departing the gate.
How often in our daily lives do we launch without proper preparation?
The brief pause to transition from one moment to the other – to conduct a cross check and prepare for what comes next – provides clarity, confidence, and confirmation that I am ready to move forward.
This cross check also eliminates potential danger and reduces the likelihood of unfortunate outcomes.
On the rhythm of every breath lies the opportunity to prepare for departure, to make wiser choices, and be ready for what lies ahead.
And, with that next exhale, looking keenly and calmly ahead, I softly whisper, “Cross check complete.”
Mired in the fog of fatigue, loss, and self-doubt,
I am more fragile these days,
More prone to tears,
aware of tightness,
weakness,
imbalance.
Heavy and slower moving,
hyper-vigilant,
frenetic,
almost desperate to break free.
Oh, to relieve the longing,
the striving,
the insecurities.
To return to my true nature.
I am more fragile these days,
but not broken.
Tucked away for now,
but I will surely bloom again.
Have you ever noticed the calm in movement? A dancer fills the stage with motion and even in the flow of the dance there is a sense of breathlessness, of suspension, and stillness.
Take a moment to sit and watch the falling snow or a drip of water in a faucet. Notice the stillness present in every motion. See the pause of the droplets, the gaps in between the snowflakes, or the steady space that is filled as you watch one flake make its way down, down, down right after another…one drip chase another. The moving object becoming the stillness itself. Feel time pause, honoring the power of stillness in the movement.
Move your body. Move your breath. Move your mind into the deep crevasses of the movement until you find the stillness.
Whatever you do, do it with the essence of ease.
It doesn’t mean stop what you are doing. It means stay connected to your source, as if you are carrying your home with you, so you are not impatiently trying to get somewhere.
Slow down from the inside, even if the outside is wanting or needing to move swiftly. You can move swiftly, full of purpose and zeal, but on the inside remain steady, slow moving.
When I slow down on the inside, I find I don’t need to push so hard on the outside because I know I’m already where I should be.
I send messages to myself in little ways to care more, nourish better, rest more fully, And then I blatantly ignore those messages.
I harden on the outside, contract on the inside, and push on at the most critical junctures because sometimes it’s easier to set myself up for the transition by considering myself broken and needing fixing.
So I let myself become weak, vulnerable, malnourished just so I can love and tend to myself.
It seems an innate component of the mechanics of being that sometimes we need to breakdown to build up.
Rain pounds down on the door of the earth.
The soil parts, making way for movement.
Creatures on the move rise to the surface.
Suddenly the water rushes in carrying us to unfamiliar spaces.
Momentarily stunned with uncertainty this new uncomfortable vantage point becomes home.
Gradually settling into a new way of being and heading in a new direction provided solely by the force of another.
Sensing the way, knowing now a different path.
Facing challenges and significant dangers, but moving forward just the same… determined to make good on this shift.
With the pouring rain comes fresh possibilities to establish new pattens, make new discoveries, test adaptability, and make good in the face of adversity.
today I am just gonna be happy.
it takes too much effort to be anything else.
When I start with the exhale, I start with a release, emptying space so that I can fill it just so. Filling becomes not as urgent when I am no longer grasping for the next inhale but expanding intensionally to receive it.
Emptying allows the filling to happen with less effort, with the simple purpose of fulfillment as opposed to rescuing or catapulting me.
With intensional emptying comes graceful, careful filling.
For it is not the act of filling that carries me on as much as the emptying which provides the space and focus for me to move on more fully.
Slowing down and extending the process of releasing creates more emptiness, more space for nothing that in return leaves me more ready to fill with everything.