Deep peace of the quiet earth to you. 

November 20, 2019

Sometimes all we need is for someone to give us permission to make a change--if it's the right decision, it doesn't matter who. Your mother, a stranger, your sister, your horoscope--sometimes we just need the burden of decision fatigue lifted in order to see straight, in order to see that we were drifting in a new direction all along.
 

February 4, 2019

I always think of sunrise as a promise--a promise of what, I've no idea. But maybe it's more reassurance--you have made it through another night, and you're still here. You're still here to witness and if you're here to witness, then there's the possibility that you're here to love and to create and to find fulfillment and happiness in this day. 

And if it doesn't happen today, well. There's another sunrise tomorrow.

November 13, 2018

I don't know, petals. I like to think we're innately intuitive creatures, but when it comes to our own lives, our own choices, our own decisions, aren't we just a little too close? And it's an impossible situation, of course, because we want to be the purveyors of our own destiny, but all that right action gets mixed up with our hopes and fears and dreams and regrets, all hinging on the teetering framework of past decisions, all piled up on themselves. 

I mean, is that a stable base from which to make any kind of move? But if we don't move aren't we then, by definition, stuck? And when has that ever done us any good? 

I don't have an answer. All I can offer is a practice game--all we can do is try it out, play it out in our hearts first and hope the response we get is honest and true and go from there.

November 8, 2018

Petals--have you ever gotten to that point where you don't know where next to step? You're on solid ground, so there's no immediate need to move, but you can see the water encroaching, and if you don't choose a direction soon, you'll be swimming. You know the feeling? 

I sort of sense that that's where I am--I can see, more or less, in every direction, but there are no discernible paths. In other words, no matter what I choose, I think I'll be bushwhacking it.

So. Perhaps the best next move is to become very still and very quiet, watch which way the birds are heading, and listen for the call of the wild. 

July 18, 2018

I think our default answer is too often (as in almost always) 'no.' Or, waaaay more accurately, at least in my case, 'I don't want to.' 

Now, there's a fine line here--some things, some offers, some opportunities, some options just don't resonate with the song your soul is playing, and I hear you. Say 'no' all you want, up and down the scale. 

But some offerings nudge gently at that familiar melody--and you can always tell, down in your heart of hearts, that this particular addition, were you to embrace it, would add depth and feeling to the music you've been playing all of you life. And yes, that's scary. And yes that takes adjustment and a bit of tuning. But isn't it worth it? Isn't this the music you love? And isn't the practice, really, if we're honest, one of the most beautiful aspects of living?

So--just for today, why not?

July 16, 2018

We've done so much and traveled so far to be here. And while, yes, it's tiring constantly to pull out the snapshots (or worse: slideshow) of this travel or that, where we've been is worth noting. 

We have been brave--and that's no little feat. 

July 10, 2018

I know we're trained to think that we must work hard and harder and always to effect any kind of change in our lives, in ourselves. But at some point, the ground does get overworked. At some point, the gardener must sit back and wait for the seed to do its thing. The more we prod, the more likely we are to upset the delicate balance needed for germination. We can't, after all, influence the sun, the rains, the temperature of the soil. 

Sit on your hands, if you must, but sit. You've dug the bed; let some other forces take the reins for a while.

You've invited change. To be sure, it will accept the invitation.

May 1, 2018

The simple desire for clarity initiates the process of moving toward clarity--that's how powerful we are. That power is also why, prone as we are to doom and gloom, expecting nothing less than disaster, we run into roadblocks more often than not. We *expect* to fail, even if we don't consciously voice that to ourselves. We *expect* to run ourselves down, to underperform, to have to lower our expectations, to spend our lives catching up, to spend our lives winding down. 

That expectation is so powerful. That expectation is also so ingrained, it's practically become another limb. The solution? Amputate that sucker. Will it hurt? I *expect* it will. I *expect* we'll feel the ghost of its presence for a long, lingering time. Maybe. But all we need do is look down to remind ourselves that it's gone--we aren't slaves to pessimism, to low expectations, to failure, to our own self-defeating patterns. 

Please. When did we start giving away our power like lollipops at the...

March 26, 2018

There is nothing new in heaven and earth (to borrow a bit of poetry from Horatio), nothing that hasn't echoes elsewhere, from our bodies to our habits, celestial meanderings to cycles of weather. Everything is a pattern, borrowed, complicated, or improvised upon. Patterns establish themselves and tug us along in their wake. 

But let's not confuse these patterns with the well-trodden path. After all, not every path is a pattern that serves you--one creature's migration may have nothing to offer you; follow it and ignore your inner compass at your own risk. No, the patterns we want to reinforce, maintain, enhance are those that bring us to energy, to light, to hope, to fulfillment. Sometimes they're hard to find. Sometimes we have only a glimpse of their trajectory, the merest hint of a clearing ahead, but the pull of the heart is there--that's the key, whether you need to bushwhack your way there or not. 

The best revealer of patterns is observation, and the best means toward true observa...

Please reload

ARCHIVE:

Please reload

This Quiet Earth