This morning after my yoga and meditation, I journaled on what abundance means to me. It's the opposite of lack. It's a belief in myself that I have everything I need, including the answers that I seek. I'm taking an active role over the direction of my life. It's more than goal setting and self-improvement. It's a way of living a full, well-loved, well-lived life. It's the trust and belief that it's all working for the highest good. And abundance makes me feel safe, empowered and confident that what I intend will become my reality. I'm currently in the Art of Abundance 31-day challenge with Yoga with Kassandra. We set our affirmation and intention at the new moon. This month the new moon is in Virgo, which happened on Labor Day, Monday, September 6. It's been a very busy time at work and I'm trying to avoid burnout. So with this in mind, my affirmation for the 31-day challenge is: I believe in myself and my capabilities. My intention is: It's all getting done day by day when I set boundaries that protect my time. I've done affirmation meditations in the past and new moon intentions. What's great about this challenge is the repetitive nature and daily reminders of my affirmation and intention. Time often seems to tick away with to-do's, work, chores, unexpected situations, you name it. And in those hectic days, it's easy to forget and lose sight of my current dreams and goals. So this is my focus for this lunar cycle. What does abundance mean to you? Have you felt abundant before and what did it feel like? Do you believe you deserve to embody the feeling of abundance?
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.
The Blackberries
The blackberries the quintessential fruit of summer. On the brink of harvest in the heat of morning sun. They sit patiently an offering. Do I accept the invitation? There is nothing like fresh fruit the burst of flavor on my tongue. The dark stained hands from the fleshy bells. On my chin and darkened my tongue. The fruit is not forbidden or only for the chosen few. Only to those who happen to look up at the sky and notice that there’s more than meets the ordinary eye. There is some effort. I must confess. Before you can savor the reward of your labors. It takes the body to the edge just beyond reach. With added vigor and strength, I can reach what I desire. It is now in my grasp and my body relaxes and breathes. Sighing as I place the dark bell into my mouth. Yes, I’ll save some for later and share the bounty. But right now this is just for me. This moment. This effort. This delicious reverie is mine to savor. So I do. Not caught up in agendas, past stories or future thinking. Just the blackberries The offering and Me the willing recipient. And I am filled with awe and gratitude for the fresh delectable flesh. Just mine. All mine. I touch the tree’s bark and look up in the branches. There is more than enough for everyone. For the birds, the insects, the squirrels and me. All sharing a Thanksgiving feast. The tree accepts all and turns away none. Is generous and sharing to all who visit her and enjoying her gift in her presence is the true gift.
The open door
When I walked through the open door my mind was made up before the scent of lilacs and roses greeted me. They derailed me woke me out of my inner dialogue of likes/dislikes, shoulds and have tos. The inner chatter fell away like drapes falling off a clothesline. The gust made them take flight and swim along the breeze. Oh, how I wished to drop like the drapes to embody and become one with it all. To let go and truly lose myself for just a moment. Naked, exposed Yet safe to eat the papaya with my bare hands. The juice dripping down my arms. Orange sweet streaks and I laughed at the imperfection. So raw, so real, so present that the daisy and the rose, the drapes and the breeze all encompassed me and I felt true peace.
I come from there
I come from there. Far over the edge where the sky meets the earth. The trees line the horizon With never ending evergreen. I come from there. The warm grass with little crawling insects. A green soft blanket underfoot. I come from there. Where salty air cools my skin and fills my lungs with care. I come from there. Far over the edge where the sea spreads out to a flat horizon whose edges knows no bounds. I come from there Where rain melds and becomes my tears tears of joy tears of sorrow nourishment and sustenance. I feel and appreciate it all. I come from there. Where home greets me at the door. A warm embrace. A quick burst of chatter about the day. We are welcome. We are loved. We belong And call this our forever home. I come from there. The lovers embrace. The calm after the storm. The seed of potential. The green light of love. The sparkling emerald of my heart. I come from there. I just know in my bones. There was no lesson. No guidebook or post to mark my path. The landscape was laid out before me. Welcomed me with a warm embrace. Sunshine on my face. Sustenance to survive. Laughter, joy and connection to make it all worthwhile. Mine all mine. My story. My experience. My joy and sorrow. I come from there. The edge. The sea. The air. The sky. The grass. The rain. And I am welcomed home to mother earth greeted by a new day and embraced by the moon each night I come from there. The loving world and welcomed embrace
Remember
Remember the scent of the lilacs. How the air just embodied their aroma and drifted it into the windows into my lungs. Remember when they were teeny tiny buds. How 5-year old Lilly marveled at their small size. Little purple bumps bursting from the green. Remember the Easter lilies and this was the first year I got so low to the ground I could actually smell them for the first time. Remember the towering orange iris. Remember the hearty rosebush. Remember the mimosa tree that once stood proud, colorful and fragrant. Now an empty shell. Bare branches. The weakened trunk sways with a gentle push. Remember the dogwood’s white blossoms and Lilly called the neighbor’s pink blossoms “flower snow” as they fell and covered the ground in small piles of soft pink. Remember the woodpecker, the cardinal, the new birds that decided to stop by for a visit. Remember the bunny rabbit, like Old Faithful, arrives around dinner time looking for her evening meal as well. Remember the hawk perched on top of the playset as a squirrel huddled and hid under the child’s chair unmoving and the hawk ever patient. Remember the blue jays that harassed and chased that hawk away and the squirrel that timidly crawled commando style and lived another day. Remember the sweet breeze from the ocean even reaching here not so close to the shore and how I marveled at the salty refreshing air. Remember the first kiss. The special rock overlooking the bay and our life began together. Remember that tender beginning love is still here under the surface. A beloved memory but always here in my heart.
The Unexpected Delight
After morning yoga. After I’ve rearranged the furniture. I’ve cleared out space mental and physical. I welcome the movement, the sighs, the popping joints, the twists, the surprising strength. The mental games that try to take me away from the moment. When I arrive in my mind and body, I find soul full awareness. I am grateful for this body. For the time carved out just for me. There is no shame as my strong thighs hold me upright. The meanness of cultural norms in what a pose should look like what a body should look like. I honorably greet both ends of the spectrum and invite a small smile to my lips as I inhale and clear out the mental clutter once more. The morning birds are making loud short bursts even through the soft rain. They too must meet their needs and feed that hunger. It feeds my soul and theirs to find a shared delight at another glorious day to be on this earth. To occupy the same space. Breathe the same air and each feel free in our own way. Free from shame. Free from stiffness and aches. Feeling strong and in flight as I move my body just like the little birds outside my window. We may not see the sun today but we each welcome its arrival when it greets us once again.
A Million Stars
Whether outside for my daily walk by the river or relaxing by the lake, I bask in the light. If I pause long enough, I see the stars floating and shimmering. A sparkle on the water‘s surface. How I marvel that our sun, too, is a star in its own right. And right here on the still water, the sun is broken into a million stars for all those who gaze upon its reflection. A star right in the middle of the day!
What story does each little flying fireball have? Where is it in its journey as it travels through the galaxy through the great expanse?
It has a life force of its own. A lifecycle of birth and death. Even though the end may be many lifetimes away, as I feel my own ending so far away. My mind can’t fathom an end to my existence.
My smile is bright like its own star. I have a light inside that longs to be bright. Yet afraid to lose too much light, as if there’s a limited supply. My life force too is a cycle and I honor it by appreciating each day as a gift. A wonderful opportunity to learn, to be, to connect, to create.
The world is my oyster who sinks and scurries around at a speed unknown and unseen to the naked eye. The scallop and barnacle have a mystery and story of their own too. The light reflects down to the shallow sea and they marvel and delight in its rays as do I with my bare toes scrunched into the smooth cool sand. I am earthing and unearthing myself like the bird scuttering and flipping over each dead shell on the ground looking for completion.
The wild plum tree
The wild plum tree grew from the earth’s roots stretching its branches towards the sky towards the sun. To taste the fresh ripe flesh was a treasure to behold. The branches swayed to and fro like a rocking pirate ship. It does not nor can it evade the storms. Its very foundation depends on it being rooted. So the tree does what the tree does and the plum is the perfect expression of the tree. Fruit, a gift for you and me. I will taste the ripe fruit with unabashed pleasure and joy. Revel in its juice and as it drips in my hand and through my fingers. A pure delight. I thank the tree, the sun, the rain as I digest and swallow the whole earth in this little plum.
Healing Insights 