My hands cupped around the warm coffee mug. It is full of aroma And I savor the flavor. My fingers hook gently yet firmly on the handle as I bring it in for a sip. The warm liquid gets swallowed down my throat as I promptly go in for another taste. If I get distracted with conversation, with technology, with making future plans or anything that takes me away from the simple pleasure of drinking fresh coffee, the liquid starts to cool and moment by moment, its flavor gets diminished. The joy and pleasure is fleeting. And it is my intention and attention alone that keeps me centered in the here and now and not in autopilot. The warm flavor recedes like the rip current that calls waves back into the sea. I can still feel the faint warmth of my coffee mug cupped gently in my hands. I do not want to squander one bit of this temporary reprieve of the hustle and bustle of what we call modern life.
The Deciduous Tree
The deciduous tree does not appear as it once stood just one month ago. Its outstretched arms are glowing against the backdrop of the deep blue sky. Splotchy green with yellow or browned edges. Yet the mighty maple is just the sum of its many tiny parts. The branch reaches toward the sky on its solid trunk. A resting place for tiny buds that blossomed and burst into a big bold green. Seeds descended and dispersed. And now we get to see the leaves’ true colors. The deciduous tree does not get to choose when it’s time to blossom or seed. It is synched to the rhythm of nature beyond our concept of time. The seasons connect me and ground me in a world that always seems to be spinning faster and faster, Almost off-kilter Off balance. As the cycle of the season begins I’m suddenly reminded of the color, the beauty, the cycles of nature that surround me. Always there. A constant reminder that I, too, am a child of nature and connected to the timeless rhythms that surround me.
Candlelight
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.
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.
Layers
When I discover my true self revealed naked without a mask without culturally accepted clothing that clings to my curves extenuates my breasts and exposes my arms or legs, I am free from what binds me. Although society will try to make me feel foolish embarrassed to even look upon my naked body in the mirror. The glass is never a true reflection but a juxtaposition. Whoever sees their true reflection except those reflected back in the eyes of another? My lover’s desire My culture’s shame How do I let it go to accept me as he does naked and true to himself? Why do I have all these layers to shed before my true self has seen the light of day? Do I even recognize her? What’s in my mind’s eye and reflected back to me in the mirror are two very different things. Can I love the ideal me and the real me? Can I drop the story to be a certain image at all times regardless of what stage of life I happen to be in? The man does not let outside influences interrupt his burning desire to meld into one. His lust and eyes tell me I’m something more than I see. Do I exist as he sees me naked and swaying to incite his excitement? Is that the true me? Or is it the one who breathes deep sighs as the clean sheets spread out neatly tucked around my body and mind relaxes and succumbs to the much-needed rest? To recharge and feel comfort in one’s bed without interruption or distraction. To feel my bones and breath no one to interpret or criticize. It is mine and only mine to claim. In beauty, in rest, in wholeness fully alive. I can be here for just a moment. A night under the moon. She and I are one and dancing with the stars not ashamed of who we are but embodying our true nature. When the black birds take flight in that early twilight, their beating wings do not make a mark across the darkened sky. Their beating hearts in unison as they soar across the moon only then illuminated before being swallowed back into the darkness.
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.
My inner songbird
My inner songbird sings that which she cannot bring to light from the dark and all that can be marked. To be alive and free expressing all of the emotions in me. I do not know what I'll say until the moment in the day When the creative muse appears at the fore remembering her inspiring visits from before I long to express what's inside and to be safe in my stride. I want to feel ease and peace the joy and magic of release Those words that are meant to be said once I get them out of my head.
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.
Healing Insights 