I feel the stardust in my bones. I revel in the magic of our very being – made from the vastness of the cosmos and the depths of the earth.
The sweetness of divine connection like
a thousand points of light
in each and every cell.
The grace of gratitude moves through, and fills, every part of me.
My heart is open, crackling with the electric warmth of unconditional love pumping through every vein with each pulse.
It’s everything and nothing all at once.
The ecstasy of unconditional contentedness found in a single point of focus; the timelessness of the pause in the sacred space between breaths.
This is home.
This day is the hardest day and I suspect it always will be.
3 years ago today I pulled my mother off of life support. 3 years ago today my mother died.
It hurts so much. My heart aches in ways I cannot describe.
This year hurts more than the others.
I am grateful in some ways because I know it’s because the rest of my life finally isn’t in complete and utter crisis. This year I am healthy enough to feel everything this deeply.
How magnificat the brain is that it really does give us what we can handle even if it might not feel like it.
I hate that I had to decide whether or not my mother lived or died. That is not to say I doubt my decision in any way – I don’t. It was the most merciful choice I could make. While knowing that gives me a solid place to stand, it doesn’t hurt any less. I find myself crying out of nowhere, uncontrollably, because something touches my wound unexpectedly.
And for the first time, I am just letting the tears come as they will. I miss my mom so much. I miss my dad so much.
Having no familial foundation, regardless of how unstable the structure might have been, is so painful.
It is so hard.
I am grateful though to have learned how to be rooted in myself, to have found the way home to myself. That is the one of the greatest gifts I received from this. The other is the gift of presence.
I have never been more alive.
I have learned to find the beauty in each moment, to savor the sweetness that comes with a broken heart….the grace of cracking open and allowing it all. So amidst the tears and the almost unbearable pain is the pulsing of life. The unlimited freedom of just simply being. For this I am grateful.
I miss you every day, mommy, I love you always.
Words roll out so easily, but once released they can be cemented in the ether forever.
Perhaps forgiven, but not forgotten.
Each word a stinging slap. The kind that leaves a red, lingering welt across my soul; bruised by those tiny words you claim insignificant.
Your words don’t matter?
Because I hold them dear as tiny fragments of your heart and soul, now intermingled with mine. I will serve them back to you softly, wrapped in love and compassion rather than wound you with my own tiny daggers.
How do I know which words to trust?
If your words emblazoned with venom and anger are meaningless, what are the ones dripping and engorged with love and sweetness?
I know the depths of your roots and the heartiness of their stalk. I know that every landscape needs weeding from time to time to flourish.
Growth blooms from what once seemed impenetrable and barren, there is a softening.
Ah sweet moon,
I bow in humble gratitude to you.
Your stability in constant change,
as you wax and wane,
is such a graceful reminder.
– Visual Art by Jen Fountain find more at http://www.instagram.com/luna.lingua
There is a certain sweetness to the breaking open of my dear, tender heart. It brings a tiny smile to my lips despite the waves of overwhelming emotion that leave my physical self a crumpled heap on the floor. That sensation of such deep pain – the feeling of my heart being torn, ripped open, scattered and aching, aching, aching…
But then, then that faint sweetness emerges. It begins to rise, to flourish, in the knowing that the cracks and fissures are how I change my story. In the dark and deep places where the growth and evolution create new space, new light, that sweetness grows. I come back together with the old and new intermingling, shifting, and creating a new path, a new journey, a new story. I bow in gratitude.
Restless. Angry? Hurt. My emotions move through my heart like a large storm across the ocean. Swelling with fury and fierceness, but never quite coming to the climatic break at the end. The monstrous swell hovers at the peak of breaking, churning, moving quickly and intensely, but never collapsing back into itself or completing its cycle. Instead it continues to grow and swirl, taking the shape of each feeling calling for illumination. Emotions so big that they aren’t ready to crash down and dissipate into tiny drops that merge again with the larger body of water, the larger part of me. I don’t know what to do with how I feel right now. There is no resolution in the moment. There is no action to take. Sometimes inaction is the action. I have done my best and spoken my truth. I cannot control anything other than my reaction. Sometimes acceptance is a bitter pill to swallow even when we know that the clarity it brings is best. It’s hard not to want to bury myself deep – my head, my heart, my intuition that whispers softly to me – cautioning me of what I don’t really want to hear. All I can offer is my truth and the response to it, or lack thereof, is out of my control. It hurts to know that my offering is just sitting silently, collecting dust and debris, discarded in some corner. Once again that voice from deep within calls to me – gently reminding me that the clarity is a gift. That rejection hurts, but it doesn’t determine my worth. It is a reflection, but not necessarily one of my own. I have learned (again and again) that people can only meet us where they are – with what they see – regardless of how clear the waters might seem to run. Ok, so where does that leave me? Lost at sea? Trapped in the chaotic thrashing of the waves of my emotions? Maybe. The potential for that is certainly there and I’ve easily spent countless hours in the proverbial spin cycle. There is also the possibility for growth, for understanding, for compassion both inward and outward. I can sit with these emotions, simply allowing them, letting them move through me again and again. I can admit the hurt even though that challenges my ego – it’s much easier to be indignant and bitter than to admit that my feelings are hurt and I am bummed out. I can let the soft, vulnerable underbelly of my soul shine its sweet light. That’s scary, but it’s so incredibly freeing. To honor my heart, and the emotions it contains, by allowing it to to be exactly as it is in this hurting and tenderness, is to be real. I finally feel a softening, a small release, I surrender.
The uncertainty is blooming, stretching, changing. Today it’s as if my heart is restless and roaming around inside me, dancing wildly, madly, passionately, but with nowhere to go. It’s confusing. It’s delicious. Hurry up and wait. Be still. It’s days like this when I have to listen more closely, more carefully to that tender heart of mine. Asking, “what do you need” and “how can I nurture you” and knowing that often the answer is simply more of the same; “be quiet, be still, keep me warmly wrapped in the sweetness of solitude.” The transformation is more apparent in these restless, but slow, still moments. Sometimes I struggle with the balance of action and inaction. My insides are swirling and suspended-in-time all at once. Right here, right now, everything is perfect. I find myself in a place of presence. A wise man once wrote, “You can’t let go and you can’t hold on” – true story, Mr. Hunter. Sometimes it’s not about holding on or letting go, it’s about allowing, about just being. Here. Now.