Autumn blessings

Image by Timothy Eberly

Image by Timothy Eberly

 

Blessed Autumn,
you break open my heart
with your brazen beauty.

You ripple across this land
in shades of red, orange, 
amber, yellow and tan
until you fade
into the darkness 
of winter’s waiting arms.

You offer your bounty,
and I drink it all in
until I am satiated in bliss.

I could die right now
and feel content with my life.

Absorbed in the fullness
of this moment 
I know nothing I’ve strived for
truly matters, 
but everything I’ve surrendered to
has been richer in meaning
then anything earned.

Swallow me whole
and if you must spit me out
transform me into the golden light
of the end of days.

Witnessed by many or none
it does not matter,
my purpose will still be complete.

On the other side of excuses

I’m back from Italy, which was a beautiful, delicious, love-filled, insightful, and at times challenging pilgrimage to my husband’s hometown.

The long flights back to Melbourne via Singapore were easy, but the jet lag is not.  It’s only 5pm on Monday and I’m ready for bed.

It’s also the day I post on my blog and I have a lot of good reasons (excuses) not to post: I’m so jet lagged. My brain is foggy. I can’t think clearly. I don’t know what to write about. I don’t feel like it.

But I also made a commitment to myself and to you to show up every week even when I don’t feel like it.

My heart is urging me to show up and just be here with all the scrambled messiness, the unknowing, the resistance, the imperfection and to offer what I can in this moment.

Our minds can justify, rationalise and explain anything but this can hold us back from what our hearts truly want.

Don’t let it hold you back. Listen to your heart. On the other side of the reasons (excuses) is the life that is waiting for you, the one you truly want to live.

With love and courage,

Kym xx

In the water I am free

In the water I am free

"Nothing is softer or more flexible than water, yet nothing can resist it" — Lao Tzu

35 degrees Celsius in the middle of March. The pool beckons.

Facing forward, I climb down the ladder into the warm water that wraps around me like a welcoming silk kimono—
so soothing to my skin.

I hold my breath and slip beneath the surface.
Pulling the water down past my torso as I kick myself forward—
I fly.
In the water, I am free.

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This moment matters

This moment matters

"As soon as you honor the present moment, all unhappiness and struggle dissolve, and life begins to flow with joy and ease. When you act out the present-moment awareness, whatever you do becomes imbued with a sense of quality, care, and love—even the most simple action."— Eckhart Tolle

Whilst dreaming of what the future might hold, the places you could go, the things you might see, the things you will do.
Remember, this moment matters.

On the pavement, a grasshopper sits so still as if death has descended. A too close inspection determines it is actually still hopping full of life.

Whilst planning how you might bring those dreams to fruition, what steps you will take and by when you will take them.
Remember, this moment matters.

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To invite wonder: a practice

To invite wonder: a practice
Ten times a day something happens to me like this - some strengthening throb of amazement - some good sweet empathic ping and swell. This is the first, the wildest and the wisest thing I know: that the soul exists and is built entirely out of attentiveness. — Mary Oliver

Learning to pay attention to the world around me saved my spirit from withering and dying.

A few years ago while I was still in Thailand, I discovered a mindful writing practice called 'Small Stones'—a short piece of writing that precisely captures a fully engaged moment. It's about keeping your eyes open for beauty, simple or extraordinary, then observing it and writing it exactly as you saw it and by doing so developing a deeper engagement with the world around you.

It was this practice that helped me to transition back to city, corporate life amidst the glass and concrete without suffocating after living my carefree gypsy scuba-diving lifestyle in a tropical paradise. It was this practice that helped me to discover the beauty in everyday suburban and city life. It was this practice that connected me to the world around me in a very simple yet deep and magical way.

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The roots of deep delight: a practice

The roots of deep delight: a practice

“You can become blind by seeing each day as a similar one. Each day is a different one, each day brings a miracle of its own. It's just a matter of paying attention to this miracle.” — Paulo Coelho

 

Every night as the sun sinks below the horizon out of sight, the cicadas praise in chorus, whilst on the periphery life rumbles past in all its rushing normality.

In this moment, that I stop and pay attention to the seeming end of yet another day, I create a sacred space in time, filled with wonder, filled with the essence of holy.

This is my practice — everyday.

I stop and sink deeply into the now with my eyes and heart open. I allow its beauty, its realness, its lights, its newness to infiltrate my bones and root me in the present moment.

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A story about falling and its lessons

A story about falling and its lessons
"What you can plan is too small for you to live." — David Whyte

For the last six weeks I have danced with an illness that has required me to pull back from boxing, social activities and even walking. I have walked only 10 to 12 kilometres once each when I planned to be walking significantly more by now. Sometimes even this was too far and I had to pull back into rest and stillness. It felt like one step forward, one step back.

Then on Sunday, in one single moment, every thing changed. Unexpectedly, I took a giant step back into a stepless place.

I just finished writing my newsletter, put my computer aside then stood to walk upstairs to fetch my sheets to launder when disaster stuck. The toes of my sleepy left foot curled under and the full weight of my body came down hard on the top of my foot that was touching the ground where the sole should have been. Pain roared instantly and I knew that my foot was badly injured — that it could even be broken.

Standing on my right leg only, I pulled off my ugg boot, looked at my left foot and gasped in horror. On top of my foot was a huge, dark lump, the size of a small chicken egg getting larger by the second. I needed to ice it and elevate it immediately.

I managed to hop to the freezer to grab an ice pack, hop to the bench to grab the phone then hop over to the couch and raise my foot up above my heart. Then the shock kicked in. I phoned friends for help, sobbing that I’d done something really bad to my foot, rang the after hours medical clinic for an appointment so I could avoid spending hours waiting in emergency at a hospital, then lay on the couch shivering from the shock as I waited for my friend Tracy to arrive.

As I waited, I wondered how this would impact my pilgrimage: would it be better if it were broken or just soft tissue damage i.e. which would heal more quickly? Will it heal in time to walk in September? What if it doesn’t heal in time? How would I feel if I had to postpone the pilgrimage?

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