Monday Mindfulness

Cultivating Strength, Joy, Peace & Resilience


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Think…love…choose

I don’t have to think like you.

I can leave a space for your thoughts in my mind without compromising my own.

I don’t have to love you.

I can hold a space for you in the sacred abode of love in my heart.

I don’t have to make choices in response to your choices.

I can make space for choices that clears away the clouds of fear, and doubt, and greed.

Being human affords me the opportunity to think, love, and choose.

Grace affords me the space to think, love, and choose freely, kindly, and honestly and leave room for you to do the same.


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Let Me Be Clear

So many times I have wished for a window into the future, into the consequences of my choices.

Seeking certainty in my decisions, weighing my intuition against the feedback in my environment, just to be sure I am getting the best deal, walking the right path, doing the proper thing.

All along I have sought clarity to fuel my certainty. I thought that clarity would provide assurance as if my choices could ever be right or wrong.

The day I chose acceptance over assurance is the day I began to realize there are no good and bad choices, no right or wrong.

When I seek assurance in my choices, I am doubting my capacity to be flexible, creative, and resilient.

When I seek to accept my choices I engage compassion for myself and confidence that I will be ok no matter what choice I make.


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And…

The wind says run.

The sun says stay.

The cool at the edges of my body says retreat…or is it calling me towards it?

The warm in the center of my being spreads outward craving more – warm seeking warm.

The body clenches and contracts in the coolness,

Portions of me are soft from the inner warmth.

I crave the warm.

I find the cool invigorating and awakening.

This tug of warm and cool, of retreat and advance, of contract and expand, plays within and all around me.

Ping-ponging from one as if better than the other or as one instead of the other, appearing as lack or wanting.

Then there is that moment…I recognize I can be warm and cool at the same time.

Where the opposites exist simultaneously within and for me.

Feeling nurtured and grounded, safe and secure in the warmth, and at the same time empowered to expand outward into the bright, crisp air and what lies before me.

How magical it is to be in two experiences simultaneously – like night and day, not opposites or tag-teaming but always there, highlighting one another.

A reminder that my world is not linear or singular.

There is never just one view, one perspective, or one answer.

I can have both but I am not without either. It is just where I happen to focus my attention, where I choose to create the story, and what I chose to feel.

It is the play of duality.

It is the “and” of being human.


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A stone’s throw

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.


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Kaleidoscope of Change

What is regular? Normal? The way things are “supposed to be?”

It seems our nature is to crave stability and consistency, to look around us for the expected.

Can the expected really be a constant pattern of change, redefined based on circumstances?

In the fall every tree chooses a slightly different timing and color and pattern of change based on its relationship with the earth, the air, and its surroundings.

Even the evergreen loses some leaves, changes shape, and becomes something different year after year.

This shifting is considered beautiful, an often awe-inspiring evolution.

No tree taking the exact same steps, no one looking the same, yet all normal, regular, naturally changing.

This change allows the tree to thrive.

I must remember there is no right or wrong in change, simply an opportunity to be unafraid, vulnerable, and resilient.

Think about the possibility.


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Pressure

The harder I rattle the cage, The tighter the confines become.

The more I strive for spaciousness, the more suffocating and unfruitful my actions.

Moved by desire, lofty outcomes in place, I remain caught up in my belief that freedom, success, and wholeness are not attainable…there is always one more sticker to put on the chart before I can experience that reward.

When I put aside the roadblocks of desire and achievement and allow true being to flow, there is still plenty of room for me to thrive and the world to know my magnificence, right here, right now, just the way I am.


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Unfolding Into Me

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.


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Loss, Not Lost

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.


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Contain Me

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.


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Contrails

Every morning through my window I watch the airplanes carve a path through the sky, a seemingly straight line built of swirling vortices.

The pilots consider themselves on a steadfast course, honed to the coordinates entered.

But as I watch the swath cover the sky, I see that one path dissipates into a thousand threads of opportunity to go in a different direction.

What one perceives as the path another sees as the starting point. A straight line swirls and morphs into a cloud.

There is nothing wrong with the trajectory on which I ride, but I find it quite fun to imagine where else I might go.