The air turns cool.
Sound becomes distorted.
Sight goes offline.
Simultaneous smallness and vastness set in.
Swaddled simplicity meets rattled uncertainty.
The compass loses its point of focus,
directionality irrelevant.
Bending and moving through unfamiliar spaces,
offering lessons in courage,
the darkness is only temporary.
Dark and heavy clouds fill the sky.
There is a moist, chilling feel in the air.
Worry, doubt, and greed swirl on the wind.
At the center of it all,
like an eye opening timidly from a long slumber,
a small space opens.
Unleashed absent effort,
unconditional,
unassuming,
extending unrestrainably outward,
an ancient healing balm,
a penetrating and permiating force,
stirs and
rises up.
It moves and shifts,
overcoming,
discerning,
dissolving,
and shifting.
Without seeking,
or striving,
it appears,
almost effervescently,
greeting all of the
anguish,
pain,
and
suffering
with gentle kindness,
patience,
humility,
and peace.
Love moves from within,
chosen
to be
seen,
felt,
and heard.
.
Are the flowers each their own?
Are their petals each their own?
To whom do the seeds and leaves belong?
Do they come together to complete the plant?
Is the plant completing them?
Are the flowers extensions of the plant?
Could one survive without the other?
Each part grows uniquely,
in its own special way,
and still, they all contribute to something bigger.
Each part is invited to do their own work,
and to serve one another.
Each part seems separate
and yet only together
do they truly flourish.
When I let go of trying to make things happen,
when I stop holding onto the belief that I need to make all the decisions and have all the answers,
I no longer feel an urgency to advance,
to be someone or something in particular.
When I let the work do itself,
methodically and gently applying curiosity and trust,
asking what’s next
without immediately seeking an answer,
allowing options to arise,
instead of predetermining the way,
believing in myself versus holding onto worn out beliefs,
success flows more quickly, smoothly, and freely.
When I take the pressure off myself and those around me to fit into my limiting perspective and beliefs,
I step more fully into my true potential…and they into theirs.
When I stop making myself small through my thoughts and feelings,
when I stop looking to you for answers,
it is clear that I don’t need the answers at all,
merely to hold onto the knowledge that I am doing the work
just by being here.
The field is bloodied.
Swords scattered and strewn.
In the distance, flowers bloom and a river runs cool and deep.
Who are the victors and what have they gained?
What have the defeated truly lost?
Conflict is inevitable but the results are a choice.
To be a victor without gloating.
To be defeated without wallowing.
To receive and face all that comes without fear.
Each day I have the potential to find strength,
balance,
and humility,
regardless of which end of the sword I face.
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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.
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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.
Witnessing
the immediate state of
the breath,
the thoughts,
the body.
Melting
conditionality,
quality,
quantity,
purpose,
direction.
Recognizing
perceptions of
loss
challenge,
failure,
imperfection,
and resistance
as a readiness
to be
seen,
felt,
and expressed
otherwise.
The next moment,
a transition,
a transformation.
Loving
and cherishing
what shows up
rather than what comes next.
There is such magic in this world.
In the way my body carries me.
The movement of the wind as it caresses my cheek.
The coolness of the tears that release my tension and heaviness and fall as readily with joy as sorrow.
In the songs of the birds and insects busy with their work.
The smile of a loved one.
The deep knowing in the eyes of a child.
The way the earth holds onto me.
The playful dance of the ocean under the moon.
The squish of sand…mud…and grass between my toes.
The twinkle of the sun peeking through the forest leaves.
The wiggle and prance of unconditional love in a dog’s greeting.
The soul connection of a cat’s purr.
The goodness in the food I eat.
The nourishment and brain power in a sip of water.
The laughter of my children.
The echoes of love that I feel as unborn babies prepare to create more magic in this world.
The gifts are endless, seamless, and there for me even when I forget, become distracted, or look away.
The magic remains and returns again and again.
All I have to do is be still and it appears so clearly before and within me.
It’s really not magic at all.
What a beautiful thing to let love guide me and choose to see the good in the world today.
For so long I have worked to convert false and illusory love into something genuine and real.
I took every secret, every lie, and tried to make good of it, convert it with my own love, and hold it in my heart as if somehow sacred.
It cut me off from believing I was worthy or capable of experiencing authentic love…so much so that I lost the connection to my own self love.
My heart never forgot. It diligently safeguarded that little piece of me while it held all the other illusions and hopes.
The portion of my heart that held onto dreams of apologies and repair finally grew so heavy and full of empty promises that it ripped itself away. Painfully it twisted and tugged, like an overripe piece of fruit trying to resist gravity’s pull. It finally fell away. Oh the sorrow. Even letting go of something rancid and rotting is still a severing, a deep and real loss.
As that fruit of my broken heart smashed to the ground, its void still consuming my awareness, little seeds of potentiality embedded in the ground. I saw in them hopes that somehow we have all learned from these lessons of untrue love.
Somehow we will remember that without filling there can be no emptying. Without love there is no hope. Without unabashed openness and courage, the fruit cannot ripen and go on to somehow grow into something beautiful.
And in the meantime, the void from the fallen fruit begins to fill with new leaves.
Monday Mindfulness 