Not just one way

"Freedom is the oxygen of the soul" ~Moshe Dayan
 
 

Once again the silence and stillness wraps around.
No impulse to move or to speak,
only be here now amidst the rapture of breath.

Again I have broken the vow I made to myself
only now to ask:

who is the one that demands that I am consistent and why?

Repetition and consistency may be the way of an industrialised world
but my true essence is wild and free.

So why do I try and tame what wants to flow like a river?

There are countless ways to show up in the world each day.
Not just one.
Not just one.

The immediacy of now

If you abandon the present moment, you cannot live the moments of your daily life deeply"—Thich Nhat Hanh
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The immediacy of your life
demands that you pay attention now,
be present here and now,
and tend to the aches,
the tiredness,
the fear,
the sadness,
the anger,
the hopelessness,
the helplessness,
the confusion,
the shame
as and when it arises.

Your plans and to do lists are
interesting, and cute
but life operates far more intelligently
than you may understand.
Every feeling you have deferred,
and creative impulse denied
will call and pull at you
until you listen.

You may think you can use
your creative doing,
your service,
your spiritual offering
to bypass all the discomfort
that arises now,
but you can't.

You may think you know
a better way,
a quicker way,
have bigger and better ideas for your life
than the breath that holds us all.

Put down your pen,
your paint brush,
your healing hands, 
your hammer,
your cooking spoon,
your phone.

Look up and in.
Tend to your own discomfort
that you have ignored or denied.
Meld into your own aliveness
awaiting your experience and expression.

This is not a journey of destination and arrival
but of being wholly here,now.

Sweeping out my house

“I ask of life to shine meaning in everyone who is searching.” ~ Aurora Hernandez
 

I am sweeping out the rooms of my house.
As I work my way down towards the basement
I discover rooms I never knew existed.
Some rooms have been locked for years
and I’ve only just discovered the key.

I used to wonder when the house would be clean.
I sweep and scrub furiously,
pushing everything out
to get the job done.
But the dirt keeps showing up.

It is dark down here
and it’s taken a long time
for me to be able to see
what it is that I am really sweeping.

The dust is not dust but pure fine gold.
The cobwebs are pure silk.
Out of the mud that bubbles
grow brilliant pink lotuses.
The quicksand swallows me whole
only to hold me to my own nurture.

These rooms hold the stories of my ancestors
and stories of my life,
unfolded and unfolding,
onwards beyond a basement
that doesn’t really exist
and upwards towards an attic
that is always just out of reach.

The more I clean, the more I discover
that the rooms of my house never end
and that I am gifted with this dust,
these cobwebs,
this mud,
this quicksand,
this life,
to explore and love
as deeply as I can.

With love and courage,

Kym xx