Motion around me could easily create a distraction or even be perceived as a danger. Motion around me could be a sign that things are passing me by.
Or, motion could be a wonderful reminder to feel my own stillness, to watch without attachment, and not be in such a hurry to get somewhere.
Rain pounds down on the door of the earth.
The soil parts, making way for movement.
Creatures on the move rise to the surface.
Suddenly the water rushes in carrying us to unfamiliar spaces.
Momentarily stunned with uncertainty this new uncomfortable vantage point becomes home.
Gradually settling into a new way of being and heading in a new direction provided solely by the force of another.
Sensing the way, knowing now a different path.
Facing challenges and significant dangers, but moving forward just the same… determined to make good on this shift.
With the pouring rain comes fresh possibilities to establish new pattens, make new discoveries, test adaptability, and make good in the face of adversity.
Here I sit in the middle of my couch. Extreme joy balancing on one armrest. Great challenge and sorrow on the other. There are pillows and soft coverings that support me as I lean to one side or the other.
There is excitement and movement, equal levels of engagement and doing required at either end of my couch.
There are days when I slide over to one side and days that I spend a large amount of time on the other. Neither better nor worse. Both engaging my heart and mind in ways that are good for me. Both providing opportunities for me to grow. Both utterly exhausting.
Today I choose not to lean or slide. Today I choose to curl up right here in the middle of it all, to feel the balanced rhythm of my heart, lulled into rest by my breath. Today I remember the weariness in my bones. Today I remember that laughter and crying use the same muscles.
I smile and melt deep into the cushions of my comfy little couch, so happy to have joy and sorrow by my sides.
Thankful for the gifts of mistakes…poor choices…and illness.
Thankful for the lessons learned through the suffering of others as they have so generously lit the way to the path of something else.
Thankful for the eyes that see flawlessness in the presence of imperfections.
Thankful for every scar that contributes to this living road map.
Thankful for the loss that serves as a beacon of hope.
Thankful for quiet act of forgiveness.
Thankful for the essence of grace.
Thankful for the peace that rests at the core of existence.
Thankful for this life of privilege,
and that you and I can be just as we are.
Thankful we can be.
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.
My vehicle is a treasure to me. It gets me around and enables me to do things I otherwise couldn’t do. It is also an extension of me. When you see my vehicle, it tells you something about me – my style, my preferences, my level of meticulousness or ornateness.
I regularly repair and maintain this vehicle, tending to all the essential manufacturer guidelines and using my intuition to listen to the sounds it makes, to know its natural rhythm and flow. I can tell in an instant when something doesn’t seem quite right and I jump to repair it. I would never put anything in it to harm it – in fact all the spaces through which it can be fed are locked and need special access, ensuring awareness and alertness to the purity and quality of the nourishment it receives.
My vehicle is not me, but I value what it does and brings to me…the experiences it allows me to have, the places it takes me, the quality of what I can contribute to my work, to my family, to my life.
The care and effort I put into this vehicle ensures it’s reliability and longevity. It requires great patience and dedication to tend to this vehicle, but it is worth every effort for my return on investment is priceless and timeless.
This vehicle deserves the best from me always as it always gives its best for me.
In the midst of the storm, I feel small and helpless. There is fear that the storm will overcome me.
I know of the danger in advance, but I ignore the warnings to back away. Instead, I hunker down. That is when the floods start, conflict swirls in all directions and visibility is reduced to nothing.
My heart pounds. I struggle to catch my breath, to make logical choices, and to know how to care for me and those around me.
And then I remember back to the time when as the hurricane developed I watched it from above. I saw it’s wild bands expanding, its dark center churning. From above I could see its boundaries. From above I noticed clusters of calm, bright sky swirling in the darkness.
In every storm since, I have acknowledged that I have a choice to turn away and even when I neglect that choice, I can find calm within the bands of chaos if I can just remember flying above it.
