Finding the balance between expressing and encroaching,
between stepping back and leaning in.
There are moments to blend
and times to expand.
Expressing one’s colors
requires softness and boldness,
the ability to complement and hold up another and still stand fully on your own.
Today, will it be accent or statement?
There are places to be both.
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.
The gift of sight is precious.
And the gift of sight quite limiting.
Energy bent,
refracted,
contorted,
to fit the confines of the mind.
Even with eyes closed,
the mind is seeing.
All of it fabricated.
If the image banks once overflowing were purged,
all unseen,
what would remain?
The seer.
The knower behind and beyond the images.
The opportunity to reimagine,
as in dreams,
as in daydreams,
as in reality,
all for the sake of being seen.
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 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
The wind determines what I hear.
My eyes inform what I see.
The body interprets what I sense.
Thoughts form from what I hear, see, and feel as an experience.
Beliefs cling to these thoughts and this experience as truth,
setting emotions into action and reaction.
In reality, if there is such a thing, it is all just a choice, interpretation best when it comes not from my beliefs but in what I choose to believe.
Choose an amount
Or enter a custom amount
Your contribution is appreciated.
Your contribution is appreciated.
Your contribution is appreciated.
DonateDonate monthlyDonate yearly
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.
I know not how
to befriend you.
There are no words or actions that I have learned
to guide me in this seemingly simple endeavor.
Yet I sense
it is crucial to my survival.
I long to connect
and belong.
It is not for a lack of love
or desire
that I appear
so unwilling or unable
to conduct myself as
a friend.
I simply do not know how.
I do know my capacity to love and the kind space that exists
within me
so ready to receive and serve you.
All I can do right now is
breathe in,
expanding and opening myself
just a little more,
building trust in my inner knowing
that I am part of the unseen bond that exists between us all,
and that your care and patience will help me find my way.
With each exhale, I extend myself
slowly and courageously
Into the edges and folds of you
in hopes that my melding
feels as gentle
and loving
as I intend it to be.
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.
The rest of the trees in the woods seem to stand so confident, so steady.
The storms have not hindered their ability to carry on.
And there I lay right next to them…toppled to the ground,
Root exposed.
So vulnerable and feeling like such a failure.
No longer am I the source of shade, fresh air, and refuge for the birds.
How could I be so weak?
How could I let so many down?
As I lay across the forest floor I feel the earth not just at my base but nestling in all along my spine, roots to branches.
I feel the soft mud, leaves of seasons past, and creatures that inhabit the ground delighting in my arrival.
New spaces to be cradled, to play in, and explore.
I am no longer giving nourishment through my leaves and breath but I am feeding the forest now with my whole being.
I am no longer drawing from the source of nourishment at my roots but I am the source itself.
With roots exposed, like bearing the deepest corners of my heart, I have nothing to protect and everything to give.
Fallen and seemingly over my prime, I am just now realizing that my purpose was not to stand tall but to fall into an even more grand state of being.
Monday Mindfulness 