We forget we have a choice of focus. Yes, we're tired; yes, we work hard. But the tiredness is well-earned, the working hard allows us to feed and clothe ourselves, to rest when we can. Illness means our body is working toward health; restlessness means we're halfway there.
I get it. It's so easy to go negative because it's always, always there--maybe it's a side effect of gravity? But even at our most blissful, our most in-flow, the negative is there--we're just too well-balanced, too much the masters of perspective to let it bother us, to let it pull us down.
But if we can remember those moments--those balanced moments--even if we can't pull ourselves into them, then I think we'll get a window into what it will be like when we finally accept contentment as our natural state.
I think, in order to reset our filters, we have to redefine 'whole,' redefine 'enough.' Heck, never mind our filters, we need to reset our sanity threshold, get through our days without wondering where we went/will go wrong, wondering where we should make changes, be better, go bigger, do more.
We have no idea what a normal expenditure of energy looks like, never mind feels like. So what is enough? When is enough? And how tired do we have to get before we raise our white flag in surrender?
Today--an experiment. This is enough. You are enough. You are whole, and you are exactly where you need to be, in this moment, for your journey onward into bliss.
I read somewhere that everywhere is equal because anywhere can be filled with joy. I absolutely believe that's possible for those of us less attached to the training wheels of peace, of joy, but I cannot (yet) reconcile myself to the nuts-and-bolts belief that the peace accessed in the woods is equal to that of an office, a doctor's waiting room, the daily commute.
Do I believe it's true, that it's possible? Heck yes. Do I see moments of peace in the above that rival the easy peace of the woods? Blissfully, thankfully, yes. Do I believe they're equal? ... Radio silence. Something in me fights against it, because while my brain and my breath can work together to tick down into (short-lived) peace, my heart needs no help in the woods, in the mountains, in the garden, on the shore.
But I think that's true for all of us, isn't it? I mean, surrounded by all that determined stillness, resolute acceptance of self, and unshakable rootedness, how can we, too, not f...
Occasionally, when it's easy, when it's effortless, we find ourselves suspended between effort and wonder and realize, in that moment, that we are the chant of our breath.
It's like those days, those rare moments, when you realize, not only that you are incandescently happy, that you've no need (finally, finally) to greedily clutch that experience to you, but are present enough, *enough* enough, to say 'yes, this is happiness' and breathe the moment free to fly, and to return, at will.
Occasionally the Star Trek movie, "The Undiscovered Country," pops into my mind. I don't remember much about it, except that my dad loved it, so we'd watch it with him, and that its title is a reference to Hamlet with, of course, death in the role of the undiscovered country.(This is really neither here nor there, btw, just a bit of context for how my mind works).
Anyway, I was thinking about this in the garden yesterday, noticing that I was truly, blissfully happy in that moment, despite future obligations, when I realized I could not possibly have any idea what the future feels like. Like death, no one's ever been there, and no one can report back (for argument's sake, anyway). And while death will be discovered by all of us on this path, the future can never be. We cannot foresee it, we can only project some energy-draining idea of what that experience will entail.
So why why why erect such a painstaking monument to this amorphous moment in tim...
I've come to believe that I used to have this addiction (for lack of a better term) to complication. Not that I liked drama, because I don't, but I think I invited complications into my life because they offered me all kinds of excuses. "Oh, I *would* but I'm so b-u-s-y..." Or, "I *would* but I'm so b-r-o-k-e..."
I mean, come on, sister! I am a creative individual. What means this 'busy'? What means this 'broke'? And what kind of world am I manifesting if that's the kind of junk I've got packed into my sweet little Boho bag? I mean, really.
Broke and busy mean nothing in a world of creative engineering--internet, library, mentors, friends, barters, foraging, reading, learning, watching, listening, sitting, sleeping. All of these things are a) free and b) available (almost) any time. These are the kinds of wild-crafted resources just waiting to feed you into the next manifestation of yourself, a.k.a., your dream, dammit.
Our ancestors did not risk predators, plague, persecutio...
I love freak flags. I love when people hoist them into the wind for the world to see--it makes it so much easier for us to find each other, to know each other. I love when we can be transparent from the first meeting--forget the small talk, the weather (unless you live in Maine--then it's actually pretty interesting and sort of a vital conversational piece...), the politics. I love when people are comfortable enough in who they are that they can just walk up and say, 'this is me. I'm okay if you don't like it, but let me see you, too.'
What gets uncomfortable is that schism between *wanting* to be oneself, but not knowing quite how to navigate it. Waving the flag a little, so to speak, then shoving it back into your pocket so that it's just a sort of awkward mess stuffed down the back of your pants--you're not comfortable, the company in your orbit isn't comfortable, and it will probably be a while before you hoist it again.
So, in other words, commit. Commit all out to being yourself....
I'm a yogi, a writer, a wanderer, female (though not particularly feminine), and an herbalist--these are all ways I've defined myself. But here's the thing--when we define ourselves we're doing nothing more than limiting ourselves.
For instance, let's take that last bit--female, but not feminine. I've been labelling myself that way since I can remember. Then, one day, I was shopping for some event (shudder...shopping...), and I saw a dress I really liked. I walked around for an hour before convincing myself to try it on, really liking it, then being scared of liking it because, heaven forfend, what would it to do to that label I'd so painstakingly crafted over the years? So I put it back on the hanger.
I still think about that silly dress.
But it's not the loss of the dress that disturbs me; it's that I allowed myself--rebel (another label) that I am--to be swayed by *my own* labeling system. If I had been authentically present, I would have tapped into the authenti...
'Otherwise' and 'if only' are probably the two most wretched phrases in our language. In any language. They indicate that you could have (*should have*) done something differently or, worse, chance could have landed you differently, and then (then!) your whole world would have opened up into some kind of enchanted, lollipop-lined, forest wonderland.
Well, I'll take you out of your misery--you would be the same person with the same path, whether or not you had taken choice x or y. How do I know this? Well, I've spent a lot of time examining my life (goddess help me), and I've looked painfully closely at my 'missed opportunities.' You know what? With a few minor exceptions, they all would have converged to the point where I am now.
Which is interesting and reassuring. As long as you're following some path of your own curiosity, you will land in the same place, minus a month or two, a year or two (and, let's face it--in a life, really, what's a year or two?). It's like taki...
You'll shock everyone--especially yourself--when you find a way. Because, let me tell you, there's always another way. Always. Even when you've been told by two-hundred-and-four-point-five experts that there's no other way, there's always another way.
Even if that other way includes surrendering to the obstacle, within that surrender will come some nudge of an idea, a direction. Yes, it might be hard. Yes, you might have to pack in years, decades, lifetimes of work and people and start again. Yes, it can suck big time.
But, it fits the criteria--it's another way. It's a way out or a way in, depending on how you choose to see it (i.e. not half-empty or half-full, but refillable--no matter that the selection of liquid may change).
The first step? Surrender to the wall. It may not be going anywhere. But. You're movable.