I am someone who likes to sweat. Often and profusely. Let me explain.
I have a close relationship with my body. I love feeling my heart pound, breath quicken, pulse race, legs, chest, lungs burn. I love to feel sweat dripping from my face, off my chin, into my eyes, down to my ankles. I love to feel my body work. I like to GO. DO. I’m an animal. I’m a seeker. I’m an overachiever. I’m sorry. Don’t hate me.
It’s just that I love to push myself to the brink, to exhaustion, in everything – mind, body and spirit. It is amazing how far we can push ourselves. Our bodies are a marvel. Our minds are magnificent. Our spirits are unbreakable.
And our hearts…
Our hearts are enormous. Colossal. Their capacity is endless. They are the receptacles of all things living. We must push our hearts as we do our minds and bodies and spirits.
Our hearts are not fragile; not really. Not if we are brave enough to keep them open. Not if we are unafraid. Not if we have faith that we will be okay - and we will always be okay. It is the heart's capacity to rise again and again after falling. We must keep it open or we risk missing the beauty and wonderment and absolute bliss of being alive.
The absolute bliss of being alive. Wide awake. It is why we are here. It what we were made to do. It is the multi-dimensional, multi-sensory, boundless adventure of being human. It is our pounding hearts. Our pounding minds. Our pounding spirits. It is Love. It is Sweat. It is Tears. It is all of it.
Do not miss it. Do not miss the burn of being alive. Do not miss having your insides bubble and flutter and glow with the vigor of the universe, every querulous fiber of your being lit up and set on fire. Push yourself. Feel the burn and do not mistake. It is just God breathing on the embers of your soul.
Tuesday, December 11
Friday, December 7
My Heart is Raining Butterflies (revisited)
I find lately that I am so filled with gratitude I feel I might burst right open. I feel my heart might just leap right out of my chest, sprout wings, fly up into the sky and start raining butterflies and fairy dust and daisies. I am beyond blessed. I am so well beyond blessed it is oozing out of me in bucketfuls, in boatloads; all I can do is dole it out here in verbal parcels so as not to completely drown in the stuff.
I don’t want to preach or boast or annoy, but I kind of feel like spinning around on the top of a hilltop belting “the hills are alive with the sound of music.” Okay, I won’t. But my god, have you looked around lately? The hills are alive with the sound of music! And so is the grass, and the trees, and the clouds, and even the perfectly dimpled orange sitting on my desk weighing sweetly against the post-it dispenser. It is all good. It is all God. It is all exactly as it should be.
It is all exactly as it should be.
I don’t believe in God, I believe in everything. I believe in love. I believe in love until the end of time. I believe in happiness. I believe in the bright side and silver linings and it will all work out. I believe in kindness and compassion. I believe in chocolate and wine and french fries. I believe in pure indulgence. I believe in good company and good books and laughing to tears. I believe there is no mountain too high. I believe there is always up. I believe time heals. I believe dreams come true. I believe we can do anything. I believe we are all stronger than we could possibly imagine.
I believe we cannot possibly wrap our heads around it all. There is more than this; there is so much more than all of this, and even for that I am grateful. I can’t fear what I don’t know; I will immerse myself in it; I will wrap myself up in it and make friends with it and cozy up to it and lean into it and have faith that I will not fall.
There is no beyond. There is only here, the infinitely small, infinitely great and utterly demanding present. It does matter. Every little tiny thing matters and must be found and picked up and redeemed. Every little tiny thing is an ingredient in this great big masterpiece, a note in the grand symphony, and if you listen closely you’ll hear it; if you listen very closely, and with much gratitude you will hear how the grass is growing beneath your feet and how my heart is raining butterflies from the sky and how the hills are indeed, alive with the sound of music.
I don’t want to preach or boast or annoy, but I kind of feel like spinning around on the top of a hilltop belting “the hills are alive with the sound of music.” Okay, I won’t. But my god, have you looked around lately? The hills are alive with the sound of music! And so is the grass, and the trees, and the clouds, and even the perfectly dimpled orange sitting on my desk weighing sweetly against the post-it dispenser. It is all good. It is all God. It is all exactly as it should be.
It is all exactly as it should be.
I don’t believe in God, I believe in everything. I believe in love. I believe in love until the end of time. I believe in happiness. I believe in the bright side and silver linings and it will all work out. I believe in kindness and compassion. I believe in chocolate and wine and french fries. I believe in pure indulgence. I believe in good company and good books and laughing to tears. I believe there is no mountain too high. I believe there is always up. I believe time heals. I believe dreams come true. I believe we can do anything. I believe we are all stronger than we could possibly imagine.
I believe we cannot possibly wrap our heads around it all. There is more than this; there is so much more than all of this, and even for that I am grateful. I can’t fear what I don’t know; I will immerse myself in it; I will wrap myself up in it and make friends with it and cozy up to it and lean into it and have faith that I will not fall.
There is no beyond. There is only here, the infinitely small, infinitely great and utterly demanding present. It does matter. Every little tiny thing matters and must be found and picked up and redeemed. Every little tiny thing is an ingredient in this great big masterpiece, a note in the grand symphony, and if you listen closely you’ll hear it; if you listen very closely, and with much gratitude you will hear how the grass is growing beneath your feet and how my heart is raining butterflies from the sky and how the hills are indeed, alive with the sound of music.
Tuesday, November 20
Sea of Gratitude
"A mermaid found a swimming lad,
Picked him for her own
Pressed her body to his body,
Laughed; and plunging down
Forgot in cruel happiness
That even lovers drown."
- William Butler Yeats
I love this Yeats poem; it speaks much to both our independent and codependent nature. We want so badly to share our innermost experiences with others, but often - like the mermaid - we forget that not everyone can go where we go. No one else can go into our depth completely. We must travel there alone.
We are - it seems, in many senses - quite alone in this life. After all, we are designed this way. It is from this singular mind and this singular body that we exist. It is from this singular heart that beats blood and spirit through our bones that we feel our way through our very personal experiences.
This can be a hard piece of truth to swallow - our solitude. But it is beautiful too. It is powerful. It is a beautiful juxtaposition to know we have everything we could ever really need inside ourselves and a sea of adventure to be had outside ourselves. Life is so amazing in this way.
Perhaps not everyone can travel with us; perhaps we will never be fully understood by all. But every life we touch is a gift. And every relationship we have becomes a home where we can return from solitude again and again.
Looking back as this year comes to a close, I see this has been my lesson. Strength of character inside - independent, steady and strong - and the courage to live with mind and heart wide open. I am a mermaid and the world is my lover. I am in love with the possibilities of tomorrow. I am in love with the hope that the best is yet to come.
Life is an ocean of adventure and I swim in a sea of gratitude. Grateful for everyone who has touched my life. For relationships - new and old - fleeting and forever. Ones that are a temporary shelter and those that have made a permanent residence in my heart.
I am thankful for you all. You feed me. You carry me. And I promise to carry you. Even when the waters are deep. Even in the deepest depths of solitude. I promise I will not let you drown.
Picked him for her own
Pressed her body to his body,
Laughed; and plunging down
Forgot in cruel happiness
That even lovers drown."
- William Butler Yeats
I love this Yeats poem; it speaks much to both our independent and codependent nature. We want so badly to share our innermost experiences with others, but often - like the mermaid - we forget that not everyone can go where we go. No one else can go into our depth completely. We must travel there alone.
We are - it seems, in many senses - quite alone in this life. After all, we are designed this way. It is from this singular mind and this singular body that we exist. It is from this singular heart that beats blood and spirit through our bones that we feel our way through our very personal experiences.
This can be a hard piece of truth to swallow - our solitude. But it is beautiful too. It is powerful. It is a beautiful juxtaposition to know we have everything we could ever really need inside ourselves and a sea of adventure to be had outside ourselves. Life is so amazing in this way.
Perhaps not everyone can travel with us; perhaps we will never be fully understood by all. But every life we touch is a gift. And every relationship we have becomes a home where we can return from solitude again and again.
Looking back as this year comes to a close, I see this has been my lesson. Strength of character inside - independent, steady and strong - and the courage to live with mind and heart wide open. I am a mermaid and the world is my lover. I am in love with the possibilities of tomorrow. I am in love with the hope that the best is yet to come.
Life is an ocean of adventure and I swim in a sea of gratitude. Grateful for everyone who has touched my life. For relationships - new and old - fleeting and forever. Ones that are a temporary shelter and those that have made a permanent residence in my heart.
I am thankful for you all. You feed me. You carry me. And I promise to carry you. Even when the waters are deep. Even in the deepest depths of solitude. I promise I will not let you drown.
Sunday, November 4
The Waiting Game
Sometimes life feels like a holding tank. Like the end of an exhale - stale, still, suspended. A waiting game.
I have found myself here time and again - in this waiting room - in a state of repose, anticipation, contemplation. Waiting for inspiration, recognition, change. The waiting can take on a life of its own. It's funny the places our minds go when given leeway - spinning webs, creating stories, worlds existing only within the confines of our interior, subsisting off thoughts we pluck from the skies of our imagination.
Why do we find ourselves here? Idle. Motionless. Stuck. It seems this paralysis of spirit is born from uncertainty and perhaps fear. It comes when we are unclear, apprehensive, when we don't know what we want.
Because the truth is this:
Everything in our lives. Every little thing. Everything we are and everything we long for. Everything we want and cannot have. Everything we have and do not want. Everything. All of it is our creation. We do get what we want. We get exactly what we want.
And so, when we find ourselves waiting, it is an excuse for inaction. It is powerless wanting. It is renouncement of our genius, our potential, our creativity.
Just as you created your way into this hole, you can create your way out of it. Life is never a waiting game when you realize you are the game maker. The creator. If you wait for the perfect time - the perfect opportunity - it will never come. The perfect time is one-foot-in-front-of-the-other-right-fucking-now. And if you find yourself unable to move one way, take a step in the opposite direction. But do not stand still, stagnant, powerless.
Life is not meant to be difficult. I am beginning to realize that there is actually really nothing to figure out at all. There is just living fully in this moment and loving it for exactly what it is.
The first step to freeing yourself from the wait is to love where you are. The second is to realize that you are the one who got yourself there.
So if you're tired of waiting, then get out of the room and declare: Game Over.
I have found myself here time and again - in this waiting room - in a state of repose, anticipation, contemplation. Waiting for inspiration, recognition, change. The waiting can take on a life of its own. It's funny the places our minds go when given leeway - spinning webs, creating stories, worlds existing only within the confines of our interior, subsisting off thoughts we pluck from the skies of our imagination.
Why do we find ourselves here? Idle. Motionless. Stuck. It seems this paralysis of spirit is born from uncertainty and perhaps fear. It comes when we are unclear, apprehensive, when we don't know what we want.
Because the truth is this:
Everything in our lives. Every little thing. Everything we are and everything we long for. Everything we want and cannot have. Everything we have and do not want. Everything. All of it is our creation. We do get what we want. We get exactly what we want.
And so, when we find ourselves waiting, it is an excuse for inaction. It is powerless wanting. It is renouncement of our genius, our potential, our creativity.
Just as you created your way into this hole, you can create your way out of it. Life is never a waiting game when you realize you are the game maker. The creator. If you wait for the perfect time - the perfect opportunity - it will never come. The perfect time is one-foot-in-front-of-the-other-right-fucking-now. And if you find yourself unable to move one way, take a step in the opposite direction. But do not stand still, stagnant, powerless.
Life is not meant to be difficult. I am beginning to realize that there is actually really nothing to figure out at all. There is just living fully in this moment and loving it for exactly what it is.
The first step to freeing yourself from the wait is to love where you are. The second is to realize that you are the one who got yourself there.
So if you're tired of waiting, then get out of the room and declare: Game Over.
Sunday, October 14
Testimony of Leaves
Behold a leaf. A single leaf. So fragile it tears like paper, crushes in your hand to a moist stain, sharply fragrant. Dry, it burns swift and crackling like gunpowder. Held to the light, its veins are like bone work in silhouette. Eden bleeds through.
This single leaf, joined to the tree, drinks poison from the air and spills out oxygen. It tilts to catch the sun, to distill heat and light down the shadows, down to the roots and back up to limbs. To shade the earth. To feed me and you.
A leaf. One single leaf. There are billions upon billions - dancing on tree branches, leaning into the sun, falling to the ground, crumbling into the soil and nourishing the mother from which they came.
It is a marvel really. We live amidst surpassing wonders. It is the air we breathe, the ground we walk on, the skin we inhabit, the way our insides tick and pulse and spin all on their own.
It is these myriad amazing things - toes and eyes, leaf veins and cloudbursts, bedrock and ozone - that by their very constancy and durability wear familiar. The sheer steadfastness of things that surround and uphold us are dull with the caking of the ordinary.
But there is veritable wisdom in nature. In the trees and the sky, the sand and sea and rock that are the immortal backdrop of our lives. The essence of every living thing is embedded in who we are. What the sky knows of passing clouds, we know of passing heartache. What the birds know of air brushing under their wings, we know of the rush of true freedom. What the uppermost tree leaf knows of light as it spreads open for the first time, we know of hope and desire and rebirth.
We all have known moments like this, moments beneath the grid of time - where the soft wind moving through the tree branches is today and one hundred years ago. Where the world is wet with anticipation simply because the sun rises anew each day. Moments without struggle or strain, without manipulation or grasping or safeguarding. There is just the natural unfolding of things. The rhythematic beat of the seasons. The testimony of leaves.
This single leaf, joined to the tree, drinks poison from the air and spills out oxygen. It tilts to catch the sun, to distill heat and light down the shadows, down to the roots and back up to limbs. To shade the earth. To feed me and you.
A leaf. One single leaf. There are billions upon billions - dancing on tree branches, leaning into the sun, falling to the ground, crumbling into the soil and nourishing the mother from which they came.
It is a marvel really. We live amidst surpassing wonders. It is the air we breathe, the ground we walk on, the skin we inhabit, the way our insides tick and pulse and spin all on their own.
It is these myriad amazing things - toes and eyes, leaf veins and cloudbursts, bedrock and ozone - that by their very constancy and durability wear familiar. The sheer steadfastness of things that surround and uphold us are dull with the caking of the ordinary.
But there is veritable wisdom in nature. In the trees and the sky, the sand and sea and rock that are the immortal backdrop of our lives. The essence of every living thing is embedded in who we are. What the sky knows of passing clouds, we know of passing heartache. What the birds know of air brushing under their wings, we know of the rush of true freedom. What the uppermost tree leaf knows of light as it spreads open for the first time, we know of hope and desire and rebirth.
We all have known moments like this, moments beneath the grid of time - where the soft wind moving through the tree branches is today and one hundred years ago. Where the world is wet with anticipation simply because the sun rises anew each day. Moments without struggle or strain, without manipulation or grasping or safeguarding. There is just the natural unfolding of things. The rhythematic beat of the seasons. The testimony of leaves.
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