Open the box.
Release the wounded,
dejected, and painful parts.
Be not afraid
that they will multiply
or grow bigger
if you let them out,
for as soon as
you hold them
on a platform
to be seen,
they become
fragile,
small,
sweet,
needing nothing
more than the space to dissolve,
into the open air,
into the rolling sea
of being,
where they become
nourishment
for our greatest
dreams,
successes,
and gifts.
At the heart of all is love.
At the heart of me is love.
It’s ok to be skeptical.
No need to be clear or believe it,
And it’s still true.
Everything is working for me.
I need not soften into the knowing.
I can breathe and stand in this,
or I can struggle and resist,
and it will still happen – I am being.
I occupy this space, knowing that no one occupies this space like me.
Big or small,
tall or coiled,
heavy or light,
bold or shy,
free or bound.
The heart of me remains unchanged.
The heart of you remains unchanged.
The heart of all remains of love.
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I fly out over the waves I call my home in search of nourishment.
In my seeking, I drift farther and farther from my nest.
Eventually, I am too tired to go on.
As I land, I find completely unfamiliar surroundings.
So unnerving, the experience of stepping out of the familiar, even when it’s for my own survival.
Do I retrace my steps and return to what was and where I came from, scavenging and settling for the scraps?
Do I settle into this new space and look ahead, embracing the unfamiliar and uncertain?
I can turn back or I can stand on these new shores.
I can forage and discover.
I pause and tuck under my wings where I find a consistent space of solace and reassurance,
to rest, to calm, and regain focus,
Here, I remember that to truly nourish myself,
I just may need to take flight and perch on new frontiers.
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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 not one giant awakening.
There is no detachment from pain.
There is not one moment of clarity that instantly falls upon the eyes or mind. There is not one instant one experiences freedom.
It happens bit by bit.
Awakening in the darkness,
in the suffering,
in the discomfort,
and in the dis-ease.
We begin to know it, like a dear and cherished friend.
There is a gradual unclogging, unfogging, and unraveling – that is the mystery of change.
That is the beauty of opening oneself to the potentiality of growing into something different.
Bit by bit, moment by moment, like pieces of a puzzle, thoughts and feeling, sensation and experiences, twist and turn and gradually find their way to fit together.
In that coming together, there is a sense of harmony and ease, perhaps even joy, that surfaces on the horizon,
not in overcoming the obstacles,
not in seeing the finished product,
but in feeling the creative process and drinking it all in.
As the moon waxes,
so does my confidence.
I boldly embrace the lessons of the past,
peeling away the darkness,
revealing with wisdom, grace, and humility,
the path of mistakes,
missteps, and injury,
owning them all as
valuable elements,
as every lesson
forms the substance of
what fills in
as the shadows step back
and the moon softly shines.
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.
A bird flies overhead,
magnificent in its form and grace,
perfection in flight.
So present in its existence, movement, and being.
So seemingly joyful and at ease, even as it efforts to ride the currents of air, finding its own way.
A feather lies on the ground,
long, lush, and of complex substance and form,
once essential to the bird’s form and function.
Even the bird,
relying so heavily on its feathers for form, movement, and survival,
molts and looses critical parts of itself to maintain its dynamic essence and functional existence,
growing into its fullest capacity.
It does not wallow in the loss of its parts.
It revels in the new found strength and skill that comes from letting go
and reforming with integrity
and wholeness
over and over again.
I came into this world knowing only me.
Somewhere along the way,
As I grew to know there were others,
I let them define who I came to be.
I thought I should follow.
And as a child, like a duckling, I did.
For that was my only sure source of food, shelter, survival.
But along the way, I noticed
I could forage, swim, and tuck my beak into my own wings
in a way unique to me.
It didn’t mean the others were wrong…
I just didn’t seem to be an exact fit to how they did these things.
I wrestled with knowing that I could make it on my own.
I convinced myself that I still needed to follow and be how and what they dictated.
And then one day, I gave it a small try.
I wandered a little farther away.
I showed up last to the waters edge.
I sat a bit longer in the sun than the rest.
There I found ease and a new sense of knowing.
The aloneness still haunts me from time to time as I am now no longer part of that brood.
And yes swimming on my own takes a new kind of effort.
But I’ve noticed
The others haven’t gone away.
Just their influence over my choices has.
Now we search for food near each other but don’t have to fight for the same piece.
We gather closer together when we need warmth and give space as needed.
We swim in the same waters but no longer in each other’s wake.
It’s a new way of existing,
This coming back to knowing me,
And it seems to be just the way it is supposed to be.
Sometimes the light is too bright.
It is quick, and big, and so expansive.
Uncomfortable.
Unfamiliar.
Intimidating.
Too adventurous.
It feels great,
But a little unsafe.
Taking sips.
Feeling cautious.
Going slow.
Becoming curious.
Letting it tingle and flicker.
Allowing glimmers of ease.
Breathe by breath,
Becoming just a little lighter,
Peeling open with an achiness and stiffness,
Untangling and unfurling,
Nourished and relaxed by the light.
Beginning to awaken and transition.
Now softness and trust expand.
Permission granted to feel,
To release,
To become
Something else.
Freedom to be, anew.
Monday Mindfulness 