Imagine an artist hand-working a tapestry with such precision that it rippled with perfection, had no evidence of flaws in material or craftsmanship, and contained absolutely no mistakes.
Would the artist call it perfect? Would they feel any less insecure in the results of their work? Would they recognize their accomplishment? Could they see their work as flawless? Is there such a thing? Would they want to be? And how would this perfect tapestry be received any differently than any others?
The brave artist announces mistakes not in shame, with excuses, or expecting judgment, but with joy in knowing that imperfections are not signs of our flaws and weaknesses but demonstrations of our beauty – and our capacity for compassion and forgiveness. Imperfections provide opportunities for us to create, again and again, not for the sake of achieving perfection but as play with absolutely no desired outcome other than the act of creating itself.
We need not be embarrassed, fearful, or ashamed in our mistakes. We and others benefit every time we craft with complete vulnerability and humility. Each mistake is important as it leaves space for love to come through.
An enthusiastic and naïve seagull swoops down on a tiny fish sparkling near the surface of the softly rippling waves.
It eagerly dives in and grasps the silvery treasure.
A simple maneuver performed hundreds of times in the past turns immediately to struggle as a hook and clear line at the end of a poll entangle the unsuspecting.
Soon the sky fills as the silent call for help produces a furry of circling, screeching, and diving.
All are now hovering, pensively and purposefully.
A shirt comes off to cover the bird as nimble hands work to untangle the lines.
The air is filled with insecurity and uncertainty.
A cloud of judgment forms.
It is the bird’s fault.
It is the fisherman’s fault.
They are saving the bird.
They are hurting the bird.
All is a swirl in the energetic exchange of emotions and actions.
Soon there is a release, a cutting free, a letting go.
And none are left untarnished.
There is not an immediate sense of relief as one might expect.
Heads hang heavy, perhaps even filled with shame and remorse.
The drenched shirt, the cut line, the disheveled demeanor of all reminds us that even when the urgent rescue and the struggle dissolve,
There is a residual current of pain that must be allowed to dissipate and transform.
Even in the shortest-lived trauma, there must be a space following for grief, loss, and healing.
No participant in this event is untouched.
Only those who feel fully, surrender to the flood of intense sensations, and tend the wounds of the entanglement will be fully free.
A period of rest and repair is needed for all.
Shaking,
pruning,
pacing,
sounding,
slowing down,
and reconnecting
to the earth,
the water,
and the air,
each participant is offered a blanket of grace, compassion, and love to wrap around them in order for the judgment, fear, shame, and pain to subside.
In due time, as they forgive one another, they once more wander the edge of the sea, seeking nourishment, seeing differently, and feeling a part of something greater,
a net of seemingly invisible lines meant to connect and secure us, and sometimes harrowingly entangling,
Within this great time of change, unsettledness, and loss, comes an urge for clarity, knowing, and security.
It becomes more and more elusive with grander and grander efforts to find a connection, a grounding, a holding on place.
Clawing furiously at the earth, desperate for a sense of being held, folding so close to its surface, the breath and body become lost, unable to find the satisfaction of security.
Perhaps the rooting down into connection is not what is needed.
Rather, the courage to rise up to it,
To release the bonds and tethers that built an illusion of having a home.
To become the ether,
The soft chord that aligns with the core of our being,
That has no home because it is our home,
That needs no latching on as its connection is found in the releasing, trusting, and cutting of cords.
The ether holds timeless wisdom in quietude,
A space where the walls of understanding, reason, and storytelling are replaced with wide expanses of clarity, simplicity, ease, and knowing.
Ethereal connections need no validation or roots but remind us of unity in the unknown.
It is time not to hunker down into the ordinary, the familiar, and the history, but to embark on a journey of discovery, exploration, and love within,
I follow my breath to the small, tender space of my heart.
This is where I find security and assurance.
This is where in the quiet and stillness I hear the sweet voice of my Self.
I feel the very center point of my existence.
From this center, I am clear as to what I am and what I am not.
From this center, I am kind, courageous, creative, curious,
and, oh, so, very smart and strong.
From this center, there is enough of me to hold both of us joyfully in our play as humans.
From this center, bright light radiates out and all around me full of unconditional love that doesn’t just give and fix and please.
No, this bright, magnificent light protects, defines, and honors my deepest self which in return brings forward my best self for all of us.
Centered in my Self I know more clearly who I am, and who I am not, washing away fear and doubt, posturing and grasping, and external pressures to conform or contract.
Centered in my Self I experience peace and confidence, ease and joy, harmony and health.
slippery mud warns of the potential danger in crossing.
Yet here I am, knowing this is the way to go.
I watch as the current jets and swerves around the moss and algae covered rocks scattered in the creek.
I find the most narrow crossing and yet it seems like still an impassible ravine.
My body tightens with anxiety,
For a moment I choose fear in response to this opportunity to move in a new direction.
In the tightening, frozen, I am,
dreading staying where I am equally to where I know I must go.
Then the anxiety speaks more loudly.
My breath grabs at my chest.
Sweat speckles my skin.
I must make the crossing.
That is my destiny.
I step out onto one rock and
with breath unconvinced of my safety the path begins to unfold.
I pause.
Instead of dashing quickly across the precariously and wide spread rocks,
I reach out to the rock before me and test its steadiness.
In the past I might not have made a connection – I might have tried to move urgently, wobbly and unsure, holding my breath and perhaps even crashing in the cold rushing water…blaming the rocks.
Today, my anxiety informs me of my power to pause,
to narrow my attention, my body, and my focus.
I don’t need to take the path as it is.
I tense not with fear but with agency as I move my muscles into action.
I reach down and shift the unsteady rock before me.
It’s heavy and at first won’t move.
So I narrow and tighten more until I funnel the tightness into strength.
The rock moves…and so do the others beyond it…and so do I.
The rocks settle.
I settle.
My chest releases.
My breath deepens.
My body advances forward,
grounded and a bit more sure.
There are a few more stones to go but I now know I don’t need to take them as they are.
Monday Mindfulness 