The autumn sky grows darker each passing night. The sun takes her time enjoying a late slumber. She knows when it’s time to rest and time to play. Candles warm the senses like a warm mug of herbal tea. Artificial light could never equal its warm amber glow. I marvel at the flame, how it flicks on the wick. A quiet solitary dance atop my candle. And when I blow out the flame, I make a small wish: To live another day. To appreciate the day’s gifts. To remember my intention And breathe in the lessons. There’s a small trail of smoke that lingers above a red yet fading wick. Remnants of what was once there. The wax erodes in tandem with the passing of time. And I am aglow inside and out.
Category: Connection
Stories connect us
Five ways of looking at the breath
1. Deep, slow rhythmic pace It grounds me. It takes me out of my thinking mind and I embody the present moment and smile. 2. A sense of control I can hold my breath. I can lengthen my exhales more than my inhales. I can whistle. I can sigh. I can sing and even make myself yawn. 3. Tight and constrictive In those moments of anxiety or hurt, my breath is shallow and tight like a sharp pain in my chest. When I try to take a deep breath, I feel my chest constrict and tighten like a sob about to break free. 4. Connection All living beings on this planet breathe be it with lungs or gills. We all enter this world and take our first breath. We laugh and cry together. We can chant OM. We can sing a melodic tune. 5. Conduit to peace When I remember that I can control my breath, I create the optimal route to peace with just one breath. I could argue with my words or ruminate an imagined reply in my mind. Or I can breathe and let it be.
Let the past be the past
The past is the past thankfully and sorrowfully so. We have today's gifts and connections, conversations and hearts to grow. Let go of yesterday's hurts. They cannot touch you here. No matter their lull, their yearning, their harsh or loving memory. Let's make new ones today so that our wells may overflow with a life well-loved and well-lived. Let the past be the past. It cannot touch me here in the now. I know this, yet sometimes need a reminder While ruminating and caught in a memory. To snap back to reality. To be nostalgic is okay. Let's make today a great day.
Despite the rain, the sun still rises
Despite the rain, the sun still rises. It was my birthday 6:30 in the morning and as dark as night. The pattering of rain against my window began during my slumber. I looked up at the sky and knew that despite the rain, the sun will still rise and that warmed my heart. My special day wouldn't be ruined from the dark from the large puddles that collected in my driveway. In the quiet of morning, I saw mourning doves perched on the electric wire. Nowhere to go. Nowhere to shelter. Just one with the rain with the elements and they were all okay despite the rain. The sun still rises Even if I can't be greeted by its warm red and orange rays. As the day progressed, the dark sky did brighten to a white marble gray sky. The sun was still there If I just remembered. Despite the rain I went out to celebrate with my husband. at our favorite place for breakfast and each bite was a true delight. I marveled at where we were in this place and time. How I got here on this special day. The wisdom, the experience, the love, the awe, the pain, the lessons And I, too, was okay Despite the rain.
The thread
This one precious life. How fragile it is. Strung by a thread into the vastness of eternity. The oneness of all beings on their own threaded life. Who created the thread? Who laid out the journey before I came to be? The vastness of potential of choices made to make me Me. Who I am today Whole, full of light and feeling grateful. This thread we weave and walk upon. It has been tested with unavoidable change, growth and setbacks and lessons learned. My one precious life. I do not know what lies ahead. At times, I feel this journey is mine alone And even though with a future unknown, I can be supported and held as I travel on and begin another lap around the sun.
The Window
To the untrained eye, a window is merely an opening to the outside. To the imaginative and creative, the window can be a portal. A conduit to worlds unseen with the naked eye. The worlds of dream state of fantasy or memory. Perhaps we rehash a situation over and over. Turning the events like the waves in the ocean. Do we embody the memory? Can we change the circumstance and outcome to what we wish could’ve been instead of what was? Do we live lives not of the mundane reality we may think we find ourselves in But to be a world traveler. To explore caves, dunes, other cultures’ food and language without leaving the room we are in? The window is an invitation to look outside ourselves. A reminder that our lives are not contained in this body, in this space. But an opening to be more. Become more, see more, love more. The window provides a view into the heart, the mind, the shared world we all inhabit. Our lives are not as small as we might’ve thought. It’s just not the full story of the human experience. The window may be bright with light or dark with shadow and dim. The window can be open like our hearts Or closed when we need solitude and healing. It is okay to be open or closed. And to marvel at the beauty inside and out.
Saying goodbye to nice
“She’s so nice” “almost too nice.” What the hell does that mean? From childhood we are nice girls when we help mommy and are not too rambunctious or loud. Nice when we are using our imagination on domestic endeavors. I’ve grown up being called nice and the good girl. The dependable child. Always available, helping with minimal complaints or drama. How did this disposition become so ingrained into my identity that I don’t remember where it originated from? And when did I choose to embody the spirit of nice? I was in a long-term relationship in my early adult life. I played by all the rules and was proud of my accomplishments and all that I did and strive for despite my challenging upbringing. But I gave away my power so easily. Particularly to my partner. And I still have this tendency in my marriage. The weight I give him takes precedence over my own beliefs and interests. If I speak up, I feel selfish and like I’m being self-centered and there’s something wrong with me for voicing my opinion and concerns. I’m making waves. It’s always easier to just play along, go with the flow. But soon the scenery changes And the calm river is now rapidly moving towards downfall and I lost my footing, my way, my own heart’s calling and loving what I love because it fits me. I am cast off. So I need to make waves if anything for survival and self-preservation. I am not going to lie there without taking an active role. But these feelings of I should just go along, it’s easier than using effort when life can feel so exhausting. And “we have to choose our battles“ but then I’m left with a shell of what could’ve been.
Who understands me but me
They say I must fit a certain mold to be acceptable in society to be fit for love to be lovely and desired. They say I must be at least 2 inches taller if I want to fit into regular size jeans instead of my petite ones. They say I must cover up my tattoos in order to fit into a corporate business world. They say I must color my grays if I want to stay looking younger than I actually am. Who understands me but me when I look in the mirror and apply eye repair cream to keep a youthful appearance and crows feet away for another day. They say I must shave my legs and balk at the sight of a stray hair. Who notices but me. Am I my worst critic or is society hounding me to contort to fit into a mold that was not shaped for me or for any individual for that matter. Yet we must if we want friends if we want to stay employed if we want that paycheck. Put on a little lipstick and wear some heels. Who understands me but me when I wear flats and thank my toes and feet at the end of the day for holding me up and taking me where I want to go. Who understands me but me when I see the start of white grayish roots and comb my hair to cover it over until my next hair appointment. Who understands me but me.
Heart Sky
When I am still and quiet my mind, I take a look up at the grand sky. If there are clouds they often take shape in my mind’s eye. There is a dragon with its pointed tail and craned long neck. There is a bird with wings that seem to engulf and span across the whole sky above me. I feel so little like I’m a worm in the earth about to be gobbled up as prey. Then I see sea creatures. Mermaids dancing with their magical tails as fish clamber around to find their own space. I breathe deep. I try to share what I see. My favorite times are when my mind is busy and away with thoughts and then I catch just a glimpse of the sky and the cloud is shaped like a heart. Finding hearts randomly around nature is my symbol. I’m always grateful of the reminder that I am love and loved whether it’s the cloud up above like a large heartbeat in the sky or the dried up and grayed gum on the sidewalk that shares a similar shape or the lotion just pumped onto my palm. And the heart makes me smile and pause for just a brief moment. That’s all it takes really. Though the clouds and heart shapes may disappear, the image is contained in my mind and my heart. I am grateful. Alive. I am not so small. When I am present with the sky or the sidewalk, I am in awe and connected to the universal magic that is always surrounding us.
Childhood Object
My pink bike with the banana seat was my most treasured Christmas present. I couldn’t wait to take it for a spin with the training wheels. We had a long driveway perfectly safe for learning balance and feet coordination. Never veering too close to the busy street. My mom‘s attention to help me learn was unwavering.
Soon the training wheels were a deterrent. I couldn’t go as fast as my strong capable legs wanted to go. My older brother’s mongoose bike mocked my wicker basket with the burgundy flower while I took my doll for a slow ride.
The training wheels were removed. Fear: Can I do it? It was no longer up to my mom to teach me. I was on my own for the first time. And it seemed to come to me so easily, so natural like riding a two wheeler was a birthright. So I rode grooves into the driveway.
Oh, the places I’d go if only in my imagination. Especially during those long summers when we had nowhere to go. I went on adventures to places in my dreams like Rocky Point or Disney. Places I longed to go. My imagination held no bounds or borders. I could come and go as I pleased.
Here there was no map only the compass of my mind and heart. We were free. A first taste of independence and proof that I was more than capable to learn, grow and expand across the wild imagination of my mind.
Healing Insights 