I stop to touch the tree trunk as I walk by.
My nose perceives the sweetness of bright white clusters of flowers on the horizon and the moistness of the ground beneath me.
I watch as stillness and movement come and go.
I sense the invisible currents of the air
that bring me sounds,
some familiar and many more curious.
This is the work of being on this earth.
Not leaving memories,
but making them.
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 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.
In her enormity,
unruliness,
and most unyielding state,
she is soft,
subtle,
clear in her direction,
ever capable of moving,
shifting,
adapting,
aligned,
attuned,
resonate,
in her power
and beauty.
We drink of her,
ride upon her crests,
sink cradled in her stillness,
follow her home,
allow her to absorb our burdens,
as we find peace by her side.
She reflects back to us always
what we need most to see.
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.
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.
In the space of silence and stillness,
there is an enormous void,
fabulous,
wide open,
freeing.
Or hollow,
isolating,
lonely?
It is one space.
In encountering this space,
there is a choice made instantly.
Inquiry,
assessment,
judgment
all rush in to
analyze,
identify,
interpret.
The recoiling in the stark emptiness is natural –
that moment when the stillness startles and unnerves as it presses against the constricting familiar.
And, each and every time,
that space can be met with
curiosity or fear,
acceptance or resistance.
It is the potentiality that resides in the peace of the heart.
It is a choice to receive it
as a gift
or a challenge
when feeling so fully
and completely
into ourselves.
Gnarled or free flowing.
Grasping or outstretched.
From its center point,
form expands in two directions,
mirrored in the spread of itself confidently into the earth
and it’s expansion courageously into the air.
Nourishment flowing.
Survival impossible without the reflections
of grounding,
of stretching,
of growth,
of change.
One feeding the other,
feeding the other.
Separate in apparent function.
Symbiotic existence as one.
The abundance of the universe surrounds me,
an endless supply of successes and challenges.
I always have the choice which way I turn.
Signs and signals.
Distractions and dilutions.
Stop looking to the outside for answers.
Trust the intuitive process of discernment and distinguishing.
There are no bad choices,
merely different ways to play in the field.
I can stay here or I can move towards something else.
Forcing narrows the focus,
and breeds striving,
limiting potential,
and resulting in tension and confusion.
Grace and patience fuel clarity
as trust flows into and from decisions to open opportunities,
not always challenge-free but solution-oriented.
Seeking the solutions
that inspire hope,
kindle kindness,
and support the expression of deepest passion
and purpose.
This is dharma.
This is the path of choice.
Oh, the wisdom and the entanglement of memories that accompany me
along the path of rising over resistance.
Cutting through the cords of debris from the past.
Mired in the mud of judgment and unmet expectations.
Stuck in the quagmire of fear.
The truth, like a sword, clears the rumination,
making way for the realization that
I can choose growth over stagnation,
healing over habits,
and triumph with awareness and agility,
as I change and make good,
drawing with power on my past.
Monday Mindfulness 