I woke up this morning and decided, for no reason I can understand, to write about love. And then my thought ended there.
Maybe it's because I'm feeling too exhausted to channel any inspiration (although, it might be said that a sleepy mind is quite likely the perfect instrument to come up with something more true than not).
Okay. Here's the thing: I go to bed early and get up by 5 a.m. every morning, not because I have to, but because I like to. I don't care what anyone else's habits are, but I will tell you this--I don't like to be teased about mine. I never have. Maybe if I were a less self-conscious person, then it wouldn't phase me. But after all this time? I think self-consciousness and I are wedded for the long-run.
What on earth has this to do with love? I don't know, except this--I've known unconditional love only a handful of times in my life, and this, for me, is the deciding factor: with that person, you will never feel self-conscious. Which is saying a l...
As of today, my dad has been gone ten years. It's hard to fathom loss in that time, because every day feels more or less the same. Somehow the loss doesn't lessen, you just get better at dealing with it.
Except, of course, on those days you don't. The older I get, the more I miss him, the more I realize how little I knew him, how much I'd still like to know. The triggers are never big things, big life-changing questions. Just small events--like Stranger Things. He'd really dig Stranger Things.
It's those little things that sadden me, but how lucky. How lucky I have been in my life to have someone I remember with so much love and so much sadness, despite my faults, despite his. Because, really, in the end, how much you love and how much you were loved are the only questions that could ever matter.
Even when things are going well, I think we ought to make it a daily habit to look for the light, lest we forget how to find it. If that can be our constant, our touchstone, then we're never really thrown if it all goes pear-shaped, because we've never lost the ability to realize that even this is temporary, that we've been through discomfort before and come out the other side.
Because that's the charming (if painful) naivete that's part and parcel of being human--we believe that every state we're experiencing, good or bad, will last forever. We're so wrapped up (not trapped; never trapped but, shall we say, preoccupied) in ourselves that suddenly we forget physics, forget how time works, forget how all states are fluid and shifting, reflecting and refracting whatever light we choose (or don't choose) to throw on our particular situation.
So. No matter how you feel today--blissful, elated, grieving, bored, furious, or frustrated--make it a point to find and sit in the light, for a m...
It's not instinctual anymore, self-love. Maybe it was, at one point, if we were very lucky and had a good and loving childhood, but that so quickly falls away in the world. But I don't see why we can't reclaim it, why we couldn't speak more slowly, more sincerely, and with more kindness than our mind's relentless undercutting.
Eventually, I do hope that we'd believe the soft, still voice that's been telling us all along just how lovely we are.
I think we're so used to editing ourselves that we don't even realize we're doing it. I want to walk wildly through the world, but I have no idea what that looks like. I want to love what I do so much that I thrill to place my feet on the earth each morning--a love so large, how can it be so difficult to identify?
I wonder if we've become so fearful or (worse?) so jaundiced that we wouldn't know contentment if it offered us a fairy crown and wings to match.
It's sad not to know one's own mind, but it's terribly tragic not to know one's own heart.
Insisting on love has never been a waste of time or a waste of energy. And not just here, doves, in our homes, in ourselves, but in the difficult spaces--the commute, the traffic, the long workday, the harried day of parenting. Insist on love for yourself when you lose it, when you speak out of turn, when you complain (again), when you project (again).
We will insist on highlighting the negative. It's what we do because it's easy. But to insist on love is a glorious antidote. Even when your stubbornness keeps you firmly ensconced in your snit, let that little rebel voice insist and insist and insist on love.
Everyone wants you to make it--the plants you tend, the animals you caretake, the earth you walk, the sky you tune into, the spirits you believe in (or don't), the beings who guide you, the beings you guide--we're all here, not simply to survive, but to learn and to love and to unearth the spontaneous joy alive in every moment.
That is enlightenment--to find contentment, to find joy no matter the circumstance. The darkness is something we've learned and though it's pervasive, it can be unlearned. With time and a brimming over of loving kindness for your sweet self.
So much in this life can deceive us--honeyed words, inflammatory messages, retouched images, appearances, intentions, algorithms, headlines. And do we trust these sources? Well, yes, sometimes. Oftentimes. And perhaps that's why we so rarely seem to trust ourselves.
In fact, it might just be rarer and rarer to trust in intuition, the voice whispering, 'yes, yes, but *despite* all this noise, here is the truth...' So if we can't trust ourselves, and we can't trust the voice shouting (or whispering) in our ears, what can we trust?
Here's my thought and my experiment. Kneel down, hands on the earth, and say out loud to whatever's there--plant, soil, air, wind, sun, rain, moon, sky, solar system, god, goddess, mother, father--I trust you. I have faith in you. I have faith in the unseen because it cannot lie. I trust the cycle of the earth and the rhythm of the tides of the universe because all it wants is my survival, and for survival, I must be content.
I believe in absolute and instant connection. I believe in putting one's faith, wholeheartedly and without reservation, into instinct. I don't, however, have much faith in first impressions. I don't believe that any sensible judgement can be made in a moment simply because I have been so absolutely wrong so many times. I chalk that up to an inherent people-meeting reticence.
But you know what I'm saying--eventually, with enough encounters, a vibe oscillates into your orbit and you pick up the feed, deciding how this person fits. A like-minded, life-supporting planet? A distant planet you pass by on occasion, but wouldn't go out of your way to bump into? An ice-covered satellite planet that rockets around, thankfully, at a great distance? Or, on those rare occasions, a sun? A moon?
And here's the thing--relationships, like orbits, aren't static. They can change as time and atmosphere shifts. If we're not mindful day to day, then we fall into habit, into dependence, into a routine th...
I sometimes worry that I'll spend the rest of my life alone. Then I sometimes worry that I won't. I can't decide which is scarier. And, yes, I just noticed my word choice there--not which is more fulfilling, which is more aligned with my spirit, but which is *scarier,* with the understanding that I should avoid the scariness. Huh.
In all honesty, I suppose I have no idea what I want or, rather, I have no faith in my ability to maintain a relationship, any relationship--family, friends, significant others. I blame it on the Aquarian collection of stars under which I was born, and I think that's true in large part. We Aquarians are not known for our emotional fluency--and that's a big heart-centered hurdle.
But, of course, it's more than that. And I think the first love affair that must be maintained successfully is a love of self. Are we there yet? I'm not sure. For my part, I think I've reached compassion and, on some days, understanding. But love? Well. I'll keep cracking open m...