These days, it seems the lessons and reflections are nonstop, one on top of another, grasping onto one thought or mindset, only to find it challenged in the next, the option to hold with tension or release with grace, without much breathing room unless I intentionally take it.
Which I do, most mornings. I wish I could say every morning, but sleep feels too short and breathing *should* come naturally, but it’s not the involuntary action I’m trying to sort out, it’s the stillness of mind, of the chatter, of the constant bickering and questioning that clouds the day.
So this morning, not unlike many recent mornings, I pulled myself out of bed, chasing the quiet mind. I laid on my mat and cried. Child’s pose, total surrender, big, huge, salty tears dropping onto my mat. My sloppy intention of staying in consistent communion with Grace, getting on my mat every day, reaching into my depths to hold space for myself and show up as my best self for the people I love. I practiced intuitively moving my body, flowing with what felt necessary and graceful. And then I sat, and held my heart and my belly, and cried. And breathed. And surrendered this moment.
Doing the slow and steady work of strengthening my body.
Doing the slow and steady work of strengthening my mind.
Doing the slow and steady work of softening my heart.
When I want to point the finger at someone who isn’t loving me the way I want to be loved, I turn it right back on me…who am I not loving the way they need to be loved? When someone sees me through a blurred lens, seeing ‘vulnerable’ as ‘weak’ or ‘unsteady’ or ‘incapable’ – I (get pissed about it) and then, dammit, I take a breath. How am I seeing someone through a blurred lens? What judgements do I make on another, without getting to know them, their heart, their passions, their drive? It’s all a practice, moving intuitively through the process, falling flat on my face sometimes, but so far, picking myself back up again. Taking the breath. Trying again.
Holding the failed experiments of growth alongside my wholeness. Whole, while still navigating this human experience. It’s humbling … every day.
I am doing the slow and steady work of awakening my soul. Holding myself through the tender places, asking for help when I need it, and practicing gratitude in having this moment to be alive.