Today I begin again…not as a punishment or starting over but launching from a new starting line.
To begin again is to feel into an experience in a new way and invite…and then allow… an unexpected outcome.
To joyously and curiously invite variety, spontaneity, and change in such a way as to begin again and begin again, freely cultivating an openness to the unknown while at the same time feeling stable, connected, confident, and grounded.
To begin again is to be fully present, wildly open, and happy in every moment.
Smiles and laughter have a beautiful way of resonating in our hearts forever, like the vibration of music carried on the wind. The music is always there…we just sometimes have to stop to listen for it.
The gentle breeze brushes the hair off my face, opening my eyes to all the possibilities that lie on the path before me.
Sunlight bends and shifts through the branches above me, sending waves of warmth and shadows dancing upon my skin, drenching my muscles down to the bones.
The earth below pushes up into the soles of my feet, every step met with a symphony of sensations – crackling forest debris, jagged rocks protruding through the dusty soil, the path shifting and bending me.
The pops of green in the scattered brush and the sprinkling of wild flowers and occasional sprigs of berries remind me of the lushness in this life.
Smells meld together, carving new trenches in my memory, designing a magnificent tapestry of infinite connections linking the past to the now.
My palm now meets the furry edges of the bark on the thousand year old gatekeepers of this sacred space, full of knobs, notches, and burn marks, all signs of a life well lived. It’s touch drains the deepest crevasses of my being, tears now flowing in synchrony with the close by river, eroding the stone edges of my cheeks, chin, and chest.
All the pain, struggle, and fears, begin to melt. All the doubts and failures dissipate. My body, my soul now willing, softness consumes me, not absent strength, but expanding into the subtle power of me.
It is here that I witness harmony, balance, and beauty in the inconsistencies, imperfections, death, and birth before me…within me.
It is here that I discover my own capacity for healing.
There should be no shame or guilt in my eating. It is in the stories I weave of need, of loss and pain, where the suffering sets in. Stories of worthiness, of import. Stories based in anger, fear, and greed…towards the outside world and more strikingly towards myself.
Sometimes our stories weave together and then again we may just appear odd to one another.
So, we hold a space for each to simply taste, receive, be grateful and full, where there is no longing…no gaps to fill, no stories to write or rewrite,
where the order of eating is founded in mercy, grace, and love.