Thought I had the shower all to myself. Turns out a little frog thought the same.
As I hurried around the corner to turn on the water, it sprung from the wall to the ground with a giant splat. The sound was enormous!
My heart recoiled at the explosion. Fear grabbed me. It pulled the breath from my chest. My body tensed from head to toe ready to respond. My mind raced through the options…fight…or…flee…I froze.
It was at that moment I wondered – if I hadn’t been in such a hurry, if I hadn’t been so distracted with thoughts and urgency, would I have had the same reaction?
If I had been truly present and more attuned to my surroundings, would I have rounded the corner more gently? Would the frog and I perhaps have exchanged a glance but then carried on with our business?
Because I was in such a hurry and so distracted, I had created an unsettled space for both the frog and me.
Oh, how fear takes advantage of us and sneaks in to catch us when we are off balance. And how our actions impact others’ experiences. That poor frog would certainly have benefited from a little more care and focus from me…and I would have actually been able to get a shower instead of taking that time to sort through my surging fears and emotions.
Are my decisions truly aligned with what is best for me?
Do I jump into action to make a big splash?
Are my actions tied to some sort of outside message board?
Can living just to feel happy be enough?
What if I chose empathy for myself instead of sympathy?
Or kindness and forgiveness instead of shame and blame?
Can I integrate my experiences, even the ones that result in mistakes, redirection or pain as essential parts of me?
Am I working to prove something?
Or am I living in these moments for my own higher good?
Could it be that by holding a space of peace and love for me I am holding it for you as well…
…and that is heart work.
My body is a part of me. It tells me when it needs nourishment and rest.
I can manifest the most horrific diseases by ignoring the signs in my body that are saying slow down, ease off, make a change.
There is no way my body can stop being ill until I care for it.
It is time for me to take responsibility for the way I feel. I do not need to be sick to care for myself. Sick is a reminder that I have neglected to care for me.
These are real symptoms – not of some outside force taking over, but a means of communication from the inside – me sending a message to me that something is out of alignment – the schedule, a relationship, nutrition, work…my connection with me.
Each of us has ignored signs that our bodies needed more care until we were really sick, feeling that powering through is a sign of strength. We don’t need to go there.
True strength lies in respecting myself enough to rest, eat well, choose to receive kindness and love from others and to forgive and let go of those who are in a position to diminish my sense of worthiness.
My body should be held and loved by me as a baby bird that has fallen from its nest. Given a chance to be seen, heard, and to heal.
When I carry my body as it carries me, my body allows me to witness the capacity I have for deep love and profound peace and healing.
We are connectors… the shifts and moves below the water’s surface that produce the current.
When we move with ease and grace, the currents meander and flow.
Tension, gripping, and resistance make the waters turbulent and difficult to maneuver.
We can choose the experience we give to those who swim in our waters…knowing that they are counting on us to usher them safely to the edge and leave them feeling nourished and refreshed from our connection.
today I am just gonna be happy.
it takes too much effort to be anything else.
Trees loose their leaves. The moon falls to pieces. So often I take these happenings as signs that something is lost or missing.
I see someone else’s fullness as my empty. When I stand in their shadows, instead of relieved and protected, I feel smothered in darkness.
And yet the moon while it looks at times to be a fraction of itself remains whole. The shadows cast upon it by others are simply opportunities for it to buff up and then shine again. It’s light always returns, often even more brightly than before.
The tree that looses its leaves is storing energy to grow into something more, recognizing that it needs not retain its flamboyant exterior to maintain its grandiose stature.
And so the fractions, the pieces, the loss and the darkness are not thrust upon us as indicators of our own lacking or shortcomings, but as an opportunity to be something we have never been before.
Each of us ebbing and flowing with change at different times and paces to remind each other that we can be greater than we have ever been before if we lose our fear of someone else remaining evergreen or someone else shining a bit brighter today.
There is always peace.
There is only joy.
Unless you choose otherwise.
It is always your choice.
Serenely, attentively, and lovingly I focus on cradling the dangling roots of a small plant as they uncoil themselves from the snug inside edges of their familiar small pot. I invite the plant to settle into a new place to live. Grace, peace, and fluidity guide the roots gently into their new home. The plant is ready to grow as this new pot offers room to branch out.
The transplanting has nonetheless been stressful and will require new resources and support from the inside and out in order for this little plant to thrive.
Planting complete, I hop up quickly, losing focus and in a furry of thoughts and feelings I upheave my own roots, tumbling down onto the ground right next to my newly potted plant.
I have lost my footing, my roots now tangled and exposed…some broken, others barely hanging on. The damage rocks my whole being.
And in that very moment, a little voice inside me says, “Be kind, attentive and serenely focused. Lovingly tuck those roots into new, unfamiliar soil and invite them to take hold, to uncoil in a new direction.”
Not without pain, focused effort, and belief that I will be stronger, I expand my roots. I find resources on the inside and outside to grow deep. I settle into a new space of being and in this nurturing of my roots, I realize an enhanced capacity to flower, bear fruit, and thrive in a way previously unattainable.
Every tumble, every root exposed is an opportunity to uncoil and lovingly replant, to be bigger and stronger than I ever was before.
Monday Mindfulness 