my quiet nights are the savory ones. I can often sink into a particular inspiration when there is nothing but silence, a pen and paper.
this is often where I remember. it’s in these empty minutes where I find fluid inspiration. it comes in flirtatious grazes at first, barely meeting the tips of my touch. then somehow, I find myself in a river of truth. floating and allowing and being moved by a current that is not my own.
it’s here where I wonder how it is we come to believe in limitations in our human skin.
knowing now, how necessary and vital it is to unweave whatever it is we’ve been told long enough about the word “impossible”. those knots can be wound tight. perhaps through some people in our lives arguing for their own fears so strongly that we began to customize our thoughts accordingly. or maybe it’s the shadow of our own fear that has persuaded us to stay small enough to build a little, comfy nest inside that one word. impossible.
tonight’s solitude asked me to remember the swirling spiraled configuration of my own unique creation. my core. the definitive bits of me that have never changed. always remained. how there’s a certain baffling juxtaposition of how we forever evolve and yet are nothing but a speck of dust in the impermanence of energy. and at the same time…there is something. a spirit? an identity beyond our understanding? a unique molecular representation of varying cosmic characteristics that have been formed to create the very specific vessel of our mind/body/spirit existence? never changing. always true.
whatever it is…I keep getting reminded of how vast and fleeting this thing called life is. how beautiful a journey it is to keep returning to that solid knowing (acceptance, love) of oneSelf.
in the soft spaciousness of intimacy with my own heart, I ask questions.
“dear imperfect heart. what is it you want? what makes you beat and therefore be true to your very purpose?”
then I listen.
then I walk closer to whatever the answer is.
simple. hard.
necessary for the thriving.

Submit a comment