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.
You are safe and loved.
I support you.
I will protect you.
It’s okay to feel sad, scared, or anxious.
It’s okay to say no.
I love you the way you are.
You are kind, smart, and funny.
You are important.
I am happy you are here.
I came into this world far from perfect.
I came into this world, carrying a satchel of burdens, broken pieces, and suffering.
I came into this world to learn that whatever imperfections,
whatever brokenness,
whatever missing parts,
I am no less complete.
I am no less whole.
I am no less beautiful.
I am no less worthy.
I am no less valuable.
In fact, I am more striking,
more exceptional,
more capable,
more intriguing,
and more powerful,
as I embrace the contrast.
Unpacking the contents of the satchel,
I bravely weave together all the pieces with a thread of light and love that enjoys a lack of symmetry,
dances in the gaps,
Expands to fill the holes,
and revels in the spaces.
It is in the imperfections, the scars of journeys past, and the history that we carry,
That we remember the inner layers and the threads of who we truly are.
Pain provides an opportunity to turn towards lessons and lessening or to adopt as a wounded state as a part of identity.
For sure, the wave of wound on the heels of pain can feel logical and essential. It may perhaps be needed in order to make a choice. The wound from pain can be like a riptide that is easy to get caught in…that can provide great struggle and even the potential to drown.
However, to ride that current, perhaps even begin to understand it’s make up and direction and feel more fully into it just briefly, produces the wisdom to release the struggle and be propelled to its edges by its own force.
Without resistance, the riptide has nothing to hold onto and pushes away what it cannot drag down.
In due time, the churning and swirling when met with curiosity, tenderness, and patience has the capacity to deliver an object once more to calm and safe waters.
It is in returning to this calm space where wisdom is found…the pain lessened and the wound converted to a lesson.
While woundnedness perpetuates a perceived lack of safety imposed externally, wisdom reinforces the notion that safety is created in the choice to experience but not drown in the wound.
While ideally the sea of life hopes to offer smooth, calm, clear waters, it also aspires to shape future landscapes and to never remain the same, retaining unintentially in its purpose the potential for pain.
And in this way, there lie endless opportunities to ride or resist, to learn or succumb.
Not coy,
confident.
Not tethered,
anchored.
Not drifting,
opening.
Rooted in the earth.
Expanding the mind,
not with thought derived from past experiences but with ideas inspired by the unknown.
Capable.
Clear.
Strong.
Assured not in the direction in which I will head but in the magnificence of who and where I am right now.
For when the stillness and quiet fade,
I will continue to embody grace and power.
I will not forget that I am
omnipotent.
I follow my breath to the small, tender space of my heart.
This is where I find security and assurance.
This is where in the quiet and stillness I hear the sweet voice of my Self.
I feel the very center point of my existence.
From this center, I am clear as to what I am and what I am not.
From this center, I am kind, courageous, creative, curious,
and, oh, so, very smart and strong.
From this center, there is enough of me to hold both of us joyfully in our play as humans.
From this center, bright light radiates out and all around me full of unconditional love that doesn’t just give and fix and please.
No, this bright, magnificent light protects, defines, and honors my deepest self which in return brings forward my best self for all of us.
Centered in my Self I know more clearly who I am, and who I am not, washing away fear and doubt, posturing and grasping, and external pressures to conform or contract.
Centered in my Self I experience peace and confidence, ease and joy, harmony and health.
I long to be Self centered.
Along the creek’s edge,
water swiftly flowing,
slippery mud warns of the potential danger in crossing.
Yet here I am, knowing this is the way to go.
I watch as the current jets and swerves around the moss and algae covered rocks scattered in the creek.
I find the most narrow crossing and yet it seems like still an impassible ravine.
My body tightens with anxiety,
For a moment I choose fear in response to this opportunity to move in a new direction.
In the tightening, frozen, I am,
dreading staying where I am equally to where I know I must go.
Then the anxiety speaks more loudly.
My breath grabs at my chest.
Sweat speckles my skin.
I must make the crossing.
That is my destiny.
I step out onto one rock and
with breath unconvinced of my safety the path begins to unfold.
I pause.
Instead of dashing quickly across the precariously and wide spread rocks,
I reach out to the rock before me and test its steadiness.
In the past I might not have made a connection – I might have tried to move urgently, wobbly and unsure, holding my breath and perhaps even crashing in the cold rushing water…blaming the rocks.
Today, my anxiety informs me of my power to pause,
to narrow my attention, my body, and my focus.
I don’t need to take the path as it is.
I tense not with fear but with agency as I move my muscles into action.
I reach down and shift the unsteady rock before me.
It’s heavy and at first won’t move.
So I narrow and tighten more until I funnel the tightness into strength.
The rock moves…and so do the others beyond it…and so do I.
The rocks settle.
I settle.
My chest releases.
My breath deepens.
My body advances forward,
grounded and a bit more sure.
There are a few more stones to go but I now know I don’t need to take them as they are.
I can make the path my own as I find my way.
Monday Mindfulness 