The white snowflakes Gently fall to the earth. They are big, fat and wet Sticking to the ground. They stick to each other. They cover and blanket the earth. I am unable to decipher their individual shape among the many crowded underfoot. I walk gently. The freshly fallen snow Pristine, untouched by another. I do not want to disturb the perfect symmetry of smooth white hugging the earth Masking and taking shape of whatever object they land on. I decide my path of travel to make an imprint A mark of life that is there Inhabiting this space Disturbing the untouched earth. I must walk on.
They say
Who understands me but me when I say this is beautiful. When the path looks crooked and torn with rocks, stumps, roots and uneven ground. I take the first step. They say I should be afraid and not wander out too far, not go out of my comfort zone: the safety net that has become a leash tethering me to this spot training me to be okay with this small plot. They say I am reckless, foolish and asking for trouble. I lace on my sneakers and head out the door. The sunlight streams through the tree branches A lighted beam pointed toward freedom: Freedom from thinking small Lighting the path to discovering my own voice and inner strength. They say the path is dangerous. Its twists and turns unknown to an untrained eye. I do not need a compass in my pocket to show me the way. I have always known this journey. I may return to it again and again Reminding myself of my true worth. My true north is an innate part of me. It cannot be scared, beaten or numbed away. I will always resurface and be a companion and a guide to my own suffering and fears of being lost, Filled with doubt or shame, Guilty for taking the first step. I am in my corner. They say it is for my own good. It is uncomfortable to go against the grain. I show up again and again Not only to prove them wrong But to show up for me. I am on my own side and free to be me.
BREATH
The ever changing thoughts That flow to and fro Like the incoming tide. Sometimes the current is strong And I get pulled under Stuck in thought. Good or bad Time ceases to exist: My current circumstance, The coffee beside me, The very breath itself. I am consumed in thought. What I encounter then is a choice. Moment to moment I can stop the monkey mind, the hamster wheel and I can break free. I can return to the ever present changing moment. The breath is my anchor. It flashes into my conscious mind And I find a silent reverie Befriended by my own Groundedness and strength. I encounter the moment Again and again. The thoughts change. The steadiness of my breath changes. The moment is ever changing. I can choose right now to swallow the bitter pill of being lost and consumed by thought. Or I can smile and breathe Knowing the choice was always mine and I am free.
Find your own fulfillment
The great life lesson was unknown to me As it was happening in the moment. It took many years of trial and error and trying on another’s ideas or practices into my own life. Some practices resonated deeply with me. Others I tried in vain to make work Unwilling to feel like a failure As I set out to try it yet again. Setting high unrealistic expectations then wondering and strengthening my own perceived shortcomings. It is natural and normal To try things on for size To see if it is a fit. It’s also natural and normal To try to make things work, To try again and again. As I’ve matured I finally learned The greatest lesson: That it is natural and normal To let it go; To thank it For not fitting quite right And to be on the lookout For a better fit. For a practice to truly stick It has to be modified And incorporated into every day life. If it sits on a shelf Or stays tucked away neatly In a notebook, Never to be visited again For months or years, It is just wishful thinking. Of course, we can feel like a failure But it wasn’t the right fit. It’s okay to dabble, To take just one piece And add it to your toolbelt If it works and Adds value to daily life. The final lesson of all is that It’s up to me to find my own fulfillment. I can try things on for size But I am in the driver seat. I can pick and choose And let the rest go.
LISTEN
The trees have Their own story to tell. Their roots run deep, Slow and powerful Beyond what my eyes can perceive. Listen To their wisdom. The ever silent witness Present to the environment, The changing seasons, The years come and gone, Steady and silent. Touch the tree bark. Its rough outer edge. Can I be a witness Without that hard exterior? Can I be vulnerable, Exposed to all the elements And be just as slow and powerful? Not hardened to the lessons But provide a shelter, To nest and give respite To the quiet integration; To take nourishment, To be held and to hold All who pass and take shelter? What emerges from the wisdom? What tales do I want to share? The trees have their own story to tell. If I get still and quiet, I can hear their wisdom.
Ujjayi
The heartbeat pulses in my ear. The glowing orb emanates Through my ears And into the world. A metronome of tick and tock. It speeds up with exertion. My breath helps quicken or soften its beats. The sound of the tide Turns over and over Rushing in and out From my throat to my nose. I can constrict the flow To create my own internal ocean. I am silent to all I encounter. Still in peaceful presence To the beats, To the incoming tide, To the moon in the sky, that waxes and wanes Its own everchanging journey. The tide is in tune and always heeds the call. Distance does not hinder the to and fro of the metronome dance.
Maybe
Maybe I should have stayed in the meditation longer. My stomach rises quickly snapping against my snug dress pants as I breathe breath of fire. I pause and take a break. I look for the EASE. I try to be gentle. Maybe today is not my day And that is okay. Can I forgive myself For not being “great,” For losing my momentum, For my perceived act of giving up? I can breathe And offer myself the grace I long to hear. That it is okay. Today is as it’s meant to be. The mundane, gray days Make the inspired days Sparkle with brightness. Can I find my inner light here too? We can’t do everything. One person’s mold or tools Are not a one-size-fit-all. And even though I know this to be true, I find myself at 45 Adjusting and rearranging To make it work for me Unapologetically. That is enough. I show up and Create my days to Conform to me And not compare or judge myself. I let myself off the hook And that is enough.
UPLIFTED
The world is in dire need For positivity. Not to sugarcoat reality Or spiritually bypass the lessons Inherent therein. But we all need to feel uplifted So we have the inner resources to Create the change, Create the world We want to live in, To play an active role And not that of the innocent bystander Or victim of circumstance. We matter And we are enough Exactly as we are. If we show up for ourselves, Prioritize our own wellbeing, We lift each other up too.
Cinnamon
The fragrant cinnamon
sprinkled on my oatmeal
Fills my nostrils
Signaling the start of my day.
I break the fast
And gratefully accept
The flavors of blueberry, apple, and walnuts.
It is but a few minutes
Of quiet nourishment.
And I try not to get lost in thought
Of have-to’s and time constraints.
Each morning is like this.
A brief moment to savor
Before the mad rush of
Getting the kids ready for school
And my morning commute to work.
All is still
Just in this moment.
The floating fragrant cinnamon oatmeal
Fulfills and fuels me.
For I know not what today brings.
But for now,
Just in this moment,
I am nourished and whole.
[ Listen to this poem read by my friend Jess on her podcast The Pawtuxet General: https://www.pawtuxetgeneral.com/1885927/11432327-the-pawtuxet-general-episode-42 ]
In Winter we take it Inside
Nature is asleep. The barren trees A stark contrast Against the sky. What once blossomed A forgotten memory. What was jubilant And alive Now quiet, small and dark. I take the cue and Bring it inside. Even in winter I wish to bloom To continue to grow In mind and spirit To stay connected And tap into my inner And outer strength. The plant on my window sill Finds warmth and nourishment. The bird’s wing takes flight In search for what I know not. Its determined flight Beats into the sky. There is no respite When on the hunt. We hunt for Warmth and shelter. We hunt for understanding And being truly listened to And seen. We seek counsel And acceptance. In winter we take it inside. The nature of the season Demands it. And I take the cue and bloom.
Healing Insights 