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 light turns green.
Out of the depot pours the continuous stream of yellow-orange pods.
They move like ants,
single file at first,
jockeying for the lead,
then dispersing.
Like homing pigeons
with seemingly choreographed maneuvers,
they dance across the dashed lines and in between the rows of trees.
They scurry off to their destinations,
one single mission,
primed to transport their precious cargo,
conveyors of potentiality.
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.
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.
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.
When the sea is the roughest,
I go even slower,
allowing the turbulence to inform.
I do not tighten or resist.
I find the entry point
to the calmest opening.
I seek just one, small space
in which to access trust…
in me…
and the wave.
White flowers
Dark textures
Straight lines
Soft edges
Living wholeness
Dried pieces
Flowing lines
Still emptiness
Warm touches
Cool feeling
Hope and breath
In the spaces
Photo courtesy of Susan Kerr.
The Ackland Museum at the University of North Carolina Chapel Hill just hosted an exhibit entitled “Good Object/Bad Object,” inviting visitors to examine works of art that defy customary decorum and could be called “bad” because they are unpredictably designed yet they achieve an emotional depth and resonant beauty equal to “good” art.
Bad objects are opportunities to explore the edge of our comfort zone and try on new ways of seeing the world.
When the role is taken on responsibly, a bad object can be the catalyst of change and inspire different thinking.
Isn’t it interesting how quickly we humans need to label things as good or bad when often those characteristics are circumstantial. Nature doesn’t operate that way.
In humans, often when a bad object occurs without sufficient planning and understanding, the artist might become defensive or even resentful, denying accountability for their creation. If they have not been provided the encouragement and freedom to create outside of traditional constructs, the artist might try to hide the bad object, its potential emotional depth and beauty lost.
More often than not these days I find myself stronger, more confident, and more accomplished when I step into the role of “bad object.” It is not that I am not good at these times. It is that I willingly take responsibility for non-conforming, breaking a patterned interaction, and inciting a shift in perspective to achieve a familiar level of resonance in an unfamiliar way.
There is a role for each of us as good objects and bad objects. The contrast reminds us of our undeniable ability to contain emotional depth and resonant beauty in the most surprising ways.
It’s not that I don’t suffer.
It’s just that I don’t choose for suffering to be my way of being.
How often I have longed for the confidence of another, the apparent success of others, and what seems the ease with which they live.
Then I remember I have my own gifts and talents.
These thriving others are likely not concerned with what I have or don’t have and rather are living within their own gifts and abilities.
It is in living within our gifts that brings ease to our existence, success in our challenges, and the knowing that each of us contributes a beautiful and very special piece to the tapestry of all.
Much like in painting, when the unique colors blend just at their edges they are often more vibrant than when they stand alone or try to take on characteristics of the others and simply become mud.
Today, I aspire to walk confidently and brightly in the shades and shadows of my own unique talents and abilities.
Monday Mindfulness 