One day this single path abruptly split in two.
The potential in both directions was intriguing and alluring,
albeit a bit daunting.
The split itself brought much spaciousness and beauty,
a chance to pause and survey the widespread landscape of the past and present,
confirming there could be no wrong steps forward,
the divide simply an invitation to reawaken to this journey
and joyfully take the next step.
I am so powerful that I can command my own suffering to inform change.
I am so creative that I can find solutions to the underlying mysteries of my experiences.
I am so brave that I can step into my full consciousness and awareness with grace.
I am so smart that I can turn to love, kindness, and joy at any moment,
cultivating it within and inspiring it around me,
even in a world focused on being something else.
If our morals and beliefs suggest that we should all
love,
support,
and guide one another,
then wouldn’t true,
authentic
moral conviction
show up in the form of
grace
and forgiveness,
not shackles?
A calling back of the misguided to the embrace of
patience and gentleness,
not humiliation
and chastisement.
The invitation
to not be isolated,
but to come closer.
To take accountability.
To grieve in communion
for the loss
of others wounded by their actions
and
for their own internal suffering.
To wail in the arms of
a community
that shoulders mistakes,
missteps,
and misdeeds,
with understanding and humility,
no matter how egregious
on the surface.
To shed tears together to cleanse,
not punish,
embrace,
not discard,
teach,
not convict.
Curled up in a tiny ball,
breath pressing against muscles and bones heavy with the weight of not knowing.
The voice trying to find its footing,
wanting so desperately to be guided to its answers by the outside,
knowing it must dig deep and mine its own direction authentically from within.
In between each sigh,
a tear drops to the floor,
the only sign of motion
in this otherwise still
and down thrown body.
The simultaneous fullness
and emptiness
pulling at its core.
To be all
and
nothing.
Not afraid
to be afraid.
I can.
I will.
I am.
Because someone needs it.
My voice,
my intellect,
my pulchritude,
my courage,
my strength,
my kindness,
my grace,
deserve to be
seen,
heard,
felt,
held.
I will make a big, beautiful, bold, magnificent mark on the world…
Because I already have.
Flock to my greatness.
Celebrate me.
Show me pure,
authentic,
loyal,
sweet,
daring,
unconditional love,
the same way I am showing up for you in this world.
I fly out over the waves I call my home in search of nourishment.
In my seeking, I drift farther and farther from my nest.
Eventually, I am too tired to go on.
As I land, I find completely unfamiliar surroundings.
So unnerving, the experience of stepping out of the familiar, even when it’s for my own survival.
Do I retrace my steps and return to what was and where I came from, scavenging and settling for the scraps?
Do I settle into this new space and look ahead, embracing the unfamiliar and uncertain?
I can turn back or I can stand on these new shores.
I can forage and discover.
I pause and tuck under my wings where I find a consistent space of solace and reassurance,
to rest, to calm, and regain focus,
Here, I remember that to truly nourish myself,
I just may need to take flight and perch on new frontiers.
Choose an amount
Or enter a custom amount
Your contribution is appreciated.
Your contribution is appreciated.
Your contribution is appreciated.
DonateDonate monthlyDonate yearly
In this moment,
I set down expectations and any sense that I am not already successful.
I am comfortable, confident, clear.
I replace striving with thriving.
I feel a flood of grace, ease, and acceptance.
Assuredness steps in to remind me that I don’t need to overcome.
I simply need to become.
Choose an amount
Or enter a custom amount
Your contribution is appreciated.
Your contribution is appreciated.
Your contribution is appreciated.
DonateDonate monthlyDonate yearly
I hold your broken heart,
recognizing the worn and chipped pieces
of injury, loss, humiliation, and dejection
and the pains of long ago never repaired or attended to,
grown over with patchwork scars and gaping cracks and holes.
I am sorry for picking at and reopening those wounds.
I am sorry for creating new fissures and further weakening your heart’s integrity and your ability to feel whole.
I only ever meant to hold your heart gently and sweetly,
but at times my fear of losing it made me grip so hard
and cling so forcefully
that I only added to its brokenness.
I never lost sight of its beauty and worth.
I never lost touch with its essence.
But as I began to doubt the essence of my own heart, I chipped away at yours.
I only hope now to heal my heart
and send ripples of unconditional love across the void of brokenness,
applying a healing salve and restoring integrity.
With the deepest love of my heart, I render this prayer for forgiveness.
Across the barren soil of imagination are strewn seeds of desire.
They float through the air like translucent orbs, barely noticeable.
Gradually, they land, softly burrowing into the jagged and uneven ground before them.
They are compelled to nestle in,
trusting that as they are swallowed up by the soil somehow this is what they need to grow.
And so they make themselves small, quiet and still,
compelled to sprout in time,
willing to grow slowly with care.
They will face the drought of unworthiness,
resistance as they break through and change the barren land,
impatience as they require much tending before they produce any flowers or fruit,
and fear that they may not survive at all.
The patient gardener knows this.
With an eye on the potential magnificence, beauty, and need for these seeds to flourish,
nurturing instead of forcing.
Waiting joyfully,
the gardener balances hope with knowing,
confident that with proper care, attention, consistency, and flexibility,
in due time these seeds will fully grow into their potential
and from them will come more translucent orbs ready to contribute to the wildest, most beautiful, richest landscape imaginable.
Hope twinkles like tiny stars.
Courage forms in the constellations of small hopes coming together.
Darkness besets as guidance,
a backdrop for creation,
clarity, and definition.
Once the constellation appears,
even when darkness fades,
even when engulfed in light,
the stars are connected,
the constellation remains,
for once seen it can never be forgotten.
Monday Mindfulness 