When I resist with all my might, My energy and attention Can get swept away. I no longer feel grounded. I have lost my connection To mindfulness, To this present moment. And it feels like A contradiction To my intention To go with the flow. Maybe it’s because I am aware that the Friction of change Is so strongly felt. Of course, I may get Lost in the struggle, In the will to be right, And to brush up against What I’d like things to be Versus the reality. It is a mighty struggle And one I encounter almost daily. I am faced with a choice. Do I paddle upstream Against the current And all which is out of my control? Do I want to expend all that Wasted energy and effort At the cost of missing The present moment, The only moment that really counts? This is the flow that I intend to embody. I won’t always get it right. I’ll forget and fall into the habit of struggle. That is the beauty of life. We are presented with countless opportunities To wake up, to pause. And where there is awareness, Acceptance is possible.
My Writing Manifesto
The blank page is my canvas. Each day is a new opportunity To show up for myself And be inspired As my words flow onto the page. It is creativity manifested As intangible thoughts and ideas Are alchemized Into tangible words I can see Taking shape onto the page From my own hand. To be shared or not The choice is always mine.
Have Patience
Have Patience I told myself Over and over again. I knew the advice was sound But I was so impatient! And lonely. I was tired And fed up with being alone, of not finding a connection of not finding “The One.” Have Patience As the old advice goes. I thought I could rush the process Get to the finish line Without doing the necessary work. What I didn’t know was It was all divine timing. Even though in the messy middle, I couldn’t find the lifeline. My desires seemed just out of reach. I needed a helping hand, a boost. It was a hard narrow space And I felt stuck. The vault to my heart was locked and well-guarded. I didn’t want to be vulnerable, to be open to being hurt again. What I now know is Where there is vulnerability, There is an opening, A softening to receive love. There I will find strength. If I can’t be vulnerable With the one I love, The relationship is not authentic. The foundation is fragile and loose. Once I found I could be vulnerable With another, I found safety In letting down my guard And it was strength, not a weakness. That it was true connection, True intimacy. And I finally found my loving partner.
WAITING
I’ve been writing morning pages for seven months now with no missed days. The page was always there in my notebook Just patiently waiting until I was ready to commit. Imagine all the things that lie dormant and in wait. Waiting for motion, Waiting for something bigger, Waiting for the right time, Forgotten, Re-shelved, Undone, And redone. Just waiting. And I always held the key Even if I forgot Or temporarily lost it. Once found, I used the door To the page And found myself waiting. To be great, To heal, To creatively express And be an authentic version of myself. And that is why I show up Again and again For myself Because I’m the only one who can.
What am I a “Yes” for now?
{In January, I wrote the blog, “What are you a Yes for?” Here is my half-year reflection.}
I am a YES for daily movement.
I am a YES for connection and creativity.
I am a YES for making my dream of becoming a Kundalini yoga teacher a reality.
I am a YES for being in the driver seat of my own life.
What are you a YES for?
The Sisters Play
The sisters play. Lives unlived and unknown But real to their imaginations. We are at sea Where mermaids race and swim Greeted by friendly sea creatures. Oh, what adventures they had! Of course, there’s conflict. Problems present themselves. Solutions and ideas form. The sisters play on. The imagination lives In each one of us. It is known yet intangible. The stories and ideas Weave in and out. Like the waves in the sea. We marvel at their strength, Shape and fierce force. The sisters play. We are goddesses of the sea. We can shape that creative force And wield the plot and characters. A story unfolding, Real and imagined.
The honeybee
The honeybee sets out each morning, A sole worker with a craving For the sweet nectar. The hive can only thrive When the collective work together. Her day’s task is at hand And she visits her first flower. A rose. Drunk on its sweet nectar, She is seduced. And the sweet rose is the only flower She will visit on this day’s journey. The rose’s branches entwine and climb up a pole. Up and up. The honeybee has found her bounty, Her fill. And whether conscious or drunk, She has made her way back home At the workday’s end. Who knows the mystery of what Tomorrow’s flower may be. Perhaps a dandelion, An azalea. Tonight she is where she belongs.
BRICK BY BRICK
Brick by brick Layer by layer Hands wet and moist Covered in clay and mud. Layer upon layer Up and up I built a fortress. It provided safety And shelter from the elements. It was cozy and a haven. Mine all mine. Built by my own sweat, Tears, and physical strength. Made by my own hand It was shapened and formed, Embellished and flawed. Little did I realize, As I was building a fortress All around me, I forgot to build a door. Along with protection from the elements, I was locked in, Unable to express my truth To another or to myself. When the walls finally were torn down, By time or willpower, I set myself free. It was safe to feel my feelings. All my feelings. Behind the clay and mud I uncovered a temple. A brightly lit hidden treasure. Put there by my labor And long forgotten. A jewel that needed to be excavated Once the walls came down.
ALL THE BLOOMS
All the blooms have paid their visit. They fulfilled their roles to completion. Now green leaves of every hue remain on the branches. All the trees marinate and meld into just a tree Where the blooms easily identified the species. Now they are a forest of trees Indistinguishable to the undiscerning eye. One lone red maple stands out from the rest. Does the species of tree matter to the nesting bird Tending to their fragile, precious young? Maybe. Sturdy, tall, with camouflaged branches They call home. I call it nature’s greenery.
Nature’s Symphony
Nature’s symphony is at my door. All I have to do is listen. Each unique birdcall an instrument The dog bark the percussion. Small songbirds the flute. Each call a pattern, A song, a melody that makes up the whole. I am surrounded by sound. Pleasant, not pleasant My ears hear it all. What do you hear when you step outside? An occasional firework goes off even at this early morning hour. The time to celebrate is always in order. I listen and smile.
Healing Insights 