My 99-year old grandma continues to inspire me. Ten years ago, when she was still nimble on her feet and energized in her body, she decided to close up her city apartment, sort through all her belongings and move to a home for aged people a few city blocks away. She downsized everything to fit in her new one-room abode. She wanted to do this before she had to. So that she could save someone else having to move her. So that she could take care of her accumulated stuff, clear house and deal with it all herself.
She continues to this day. On an ongoing basis, she clears her things — clothes, photos, this and that. Emptying, sifting, letting go. Emptying, emptying.
I was laughing with her today over the phone, “Soon you’ll be down to nothing!” I say. “I know”, she replies. I just don’t need this stuff anymore. You know, when you’re my age, really, when will I get round to wearing a jacket I still haven’t worn? My sense of time has changed. Now when I look ahead, I ask myself, will I wear this or need that in the next year or so? And if not, well, I really don’t need it around anymore.”
When she dies, we will have very little, if anything to deal with at the level of objects. We will be freed to feel her passing, our loss, her life, our grief, without the burden of stuff. She already gave me the wooden statue of Mary my granddad carved 20 years ago. My daughter has already received the lovely jewelry she coveted. My mum already has the photos of my grandma’s childhood, precious to her. And so on…
My grandma doesn’t wait for change. She senses it and acts. She is connected with the future, with whisperings of what is to come. I find this so refreshing. And rare. Don’t most of us wait to get shoved into our next iteration? We wait till we have to, and in the case of our death, often leave behind crazy amounts of stuff for our loved ones to pour through, sift, sort and organize?
She matches this external clearing with her internal process. In our weekly calls we chat about her death as casually as about the weather. We talk about how she’d love to die, as many of us, peacefully in her sleep. I visualize this with her. We talk about how ready she is. She finds herself gradually pulling back from daily affairs, news, books etc. And simultaneously she is so here, alert and present. She cares and is interested in the current happenings of our lives. She loves my daughter so fully and is interested in her well-being, she who lives and breaths at the other end of the life spectrum.
So, I take my grandma’s ways and let them inspire me. I share them today to inspire you. How can we listen to the future, not with angst or as an escape from our Now, but with a leaning toward and welcoming of what is to come? Carving ourselves out to make space for the new, the next. Emptying and spring cleaning for the Eternity we are all enfolded in, and on our way toward. Not leaving that job, which is each of our’s to do, to someone else.
Thank you Grandma, for your modelling of a way to age and spring clean with your eyes wide open. I gladly follow these footsteps of yours.
Last week in our parenting course, one set of questions we reflected on as we consider where we come from and what we pass on to our children was:
“What do we include and bring along from our past?
What do we choose to release and discard?
And what do we transform?
In short: keep, chuck or recycle?
My lovely neighbor, Sally, sent me this photo from our community’s recent day of the dead celebration. As I sit with the many lights on the grave sites, the lineages that have come before us lie there, still. Their efforts ripple on, we carry them on within us.
Then I look at the photos of course participants’ children: wide-eyed, open, core-goodness yet unhindered. Their future in formation.
What do we as a culture pass on to our children? What chain reactions in our lineages are ready to die off, be done with, healed and laid to rest?
What can we do, within ourselves and between one another, to truly lay our dead to rest, by consciously facing and choosing what we inherit, rather than continuing an unquestioned hand-me-down version of humanity through generations?
May the light our ancestors shone, continue to guide us.
May any trauma they felt and died stuck with, be healed through us.
May we forge a new future, together.
Often our love for our children expresses itself in hugs, in yes’s and “for sure’s”. In “let’s do just what you wish and want”, in following our little (or big) one’s lead, beck and call.
And sometimes love expresses itself in clear direction, in no’s, in putting your foot down and saying “not beyond here”. In obstructing a desire. In negating a wish.
The yes’s are usually the easier way to go. Love pours out naturally that way, and comes right back at us. With smiles and happiness, with thank you’s and contentment.
The no’s can be hard to deliver. We want our children to be happy right now. We also want them to like us, right now too. We like being their immediate heroes and heroines. We love seeing joy erupt in them. It is hard to see disappointment or hear downright “I hate you’s” coming out of their eyes, skin and words.
But no’s – if sourced from the Stillness at your centre, if coming from love and creativity rather than trigger and reaction – those no’s are just as sacred, just as loving as the yes’s coming from that same place and state within ourselves. Just as loving.
It’s a cold morning, minus 7 degrees celsius (that’s 19.5 fahrenheit). Girl gets dressed in her usual garb: jeans, sneakers, cute shirt, with hoodie ‘in case’ it gets cold. And specifically: no hat, no gloves, no winter boots, no winter coat, merrily and obliviously attired for a regular day at school.
Dad sees the unfolding mismatch between dress and outside temperatures, and puts his foot down, “Either you get dressed warmly, or you don’t go to school”. Distress ensues. Some dialogue too, but mainly distress and, “You don’t get me, you don’t listen to me, I’ll be fine!”
Dad stays firm, calm, loving. Doesn’t budge on the condition and knows he is not going to be the popular parent today. He takes a deep breath and stays the course.
Girl comes downstairs, holding out wrist warmers. “Can I wear these instead of gloves?” Hmmm, what will dad do now? Here’s a chance to appease her if he gives in. It will make her feel heard, offer a sense of compromise. He considers. He is tempted for a moment. The whole energy would relax, things would slide back to their usual amicability. But she had frostbite last winter. Her fingers get cold fast. He leans into the deeper recesses of his father-love and again holds the line.
Another explosion ensues, and the announcement: “You never listen to me!”
Finally both get out the door, dad and girl, dressed for the minus 7 celsius, silent girl, dad with a nod to mum, “I know she can’t stand me right now, but I love her too much to let her freeze or risk getting sick. She’ll be OK. and I’m OK too – I’m OK being the ‘bad’ guy for her to stay warm. I love her.”
There it is – another form of love.
A key distinction between conditions, boundaries and non-negotiables being ‘extensions of love’ versus ‘unnecessary’ force is where they come from. If they are based on fearful projections, desire for power or senseless discipline, they are not love in action.
The discernment of where a ‘no’ originates from is one of the ongoing practices of parenthood.
Choosing love over and over again, and being willing to go all the way with the choice so that it stands regardless of the forms it takes, regardless of whether popularity and ease ensue, or not: that is the love our children need from us in order to grow well and in health.
photo credit: Gregory Colbert – Ashes and Snow
In my weekly phone chat with my 98-year old grandma this morning, we spoke about this and that, and with it being the Day of the Dead here in Canada (in Switzerland where she lives, they celebrate All Saints Day tomorrow), we also spoke of death, of dying, of our shared love for graveyards and for visiting friends and loved ones who have passed the threshold.
I told her about the possibility of keeping a loved one’s body at home for three days after they die – to wash, to embalm, to love and release, recently inspired by a Facebook friend’s incredibly moving account of such an experience. She liked that idea. She is one of those people least afraid of dying in my circle. She has always had a friendly relationship with the end of our physical life and stands firmly in the felt-sense that there is a Beyond in which we continue.
We reminisce shared visits to her husband’s grave in Zurich – my nono. I talk about how her great granddaughter, 5-year old A., used to love wandering through the cemeteries in Switzerland to visit the graves, to ask questions, to lay flowers on the beds of fellow humans we had just met there and then.
She says she would like to sit and visit more with others who have died, to say farewell, as they leave regularly in the home she lives in.
I speak to her of the Day of the Dead celebration here in the valley – how we gather at the community-owned cemetery, candles burning on all the mounds and graves and altars, and a huge fire lit with flames reaching up to the moon. And how we gather in procession, singing ‘dona nobis pacem’ and ‘may the circle be unbroken’. She likes that too, is so open and present to the ways of staying close to the dead, to death.
And so we share across the ocean our moments and reflections on death, on being with death, on dying.
I hang up with gratitude for her alive embodied self as well as for her willing-to-release spirited self. A charming, resilient, joking, tender, wise soul she is.
In this photo she and I are walking in the yard of my childhood, looking for slugs and upon finding them, chucking them into the stream. It sits on my desk. I talk to her about this too, and she laughs, remembering how the slugs still found their way back to the lettuces.
Life. Death. The mystery of their interwoveness continues to mystify me. And: such chats with my grandma fill me with comfort and confidence.
To all you who have passed on from this embodied existence – all you friends, loved ones and inspiring ones I knew of but never met – you make what lies beyond a friendlier place, as you track on ahead. Blessings upon your onward journeys. I salute you today especially.
Fire and moon stretching toward one another. The veil thin, the light strong.
One of many lights during the procession at the Day of the Dead celebration this year at the Dumont Creek Cemetery.
These past couple of days my mother-heart stretched again some more. It seems this is and will be a lifelong stretch. What struck me today is how visceral it is above all else. My mind was calm. My emotions too. What was in movement, where I was noticing the stretching happening, was at the layer of sensation in my body, literally as if cells were being asked to make room for more, to release, to grow my trust in this Life, to love and to let go.
And now throughout the day as my daughter wanders off into the high mountains for four days with a 40lb backpack, a new circle of friends and an extraordinary teacher as part of her wilderness school experience, it is my body that keeps sensing into her adventure… that holds her both close and far, regardless of whether my actual thoughts are with her or not. I focus on what lies before me, I enjoy the day, and simultaneously I sense expansion off into that wilderness, with her, the heart-cell-awareness ongoing.
Similarly, when she went on her first 10-day trip earlier this summer, flying on her own away from home across the great continent of Canada to stay with her aunt’s family… That day of travel, aware of her flight across plains, hills and mountains to the city of Montreal, my heart felt stretched like an accordion. It wasn’t unpleasant, although it took a bit of getting used to. My accordion-heart stayed that way for 10 days, spread over the continent before it folded back together as she neared home and walked in the door with a big grin on her face. I remember thinking of all the accordion-hearts stretched across the globe at any moment in time… threads of care, of prayer, of connection.
I watch this visceral stretching today and note with wonder the glimpse, embodied, of how interconnected we all truly are. We may notice it in much deeper fullness and clarity with loved ones, especially with our children. But doesn’t it just point to what is there under the surface anyways, all ways?
Think of those days when you cannot place sadness due to your own personal life, but you feel it seeping in under your skin, passing through, perhaps on behalf of others? You shed tears and they may be yours or they may belong to someone you will never meet.
Or the times you look at a view, or hug a friend, and sense that you are doing so for one departed from their body – lending him or her your eyes, your arms for a moment?
Or that delightful experience when you witness someone dancing or singing or doing something you would have loved to do more of, had you more time, a few parallel lives to dedicate to the many loves of this living… and then you see a friend or someone you don’t even know, doing just that and doing it so well and so beautifully and something in you relaxes, because even if it is not you doing it, it is happening, that movement, that song, that stroke of paint on canvas is happening.
These and other moments give us insights into the transpersonal nature of our humanity. The ways we are both in ourselves and beyond ourselves. We are distinct, unique, and we are undeniably connected and interwoven.
This is where my body-heart-stretch leads me today in my experience, reflections and awareness-coasting every once in a while over the mountains as I love my girl and wish her well, so well.
Sending love to all the mother-hearts and father-hearts and caring-hearts that weave threads of care and love across the planet. May those who are truly alone today, be touched by these threads, for they belong to all of us.
Today we celebrate you. We pause and reflect on all the ways you shape who we are, as individuals and as a humanity. We celebrate the many examples you share of courage, protection, strength and deep care.
We thank you for all the time you get on your knees and play wholeheartedly with your little one.
Thank you for all the catching, throwing, launching, holding, comforting you do!
Thank you for each moment of Presence you offer your kids – it is water to their souls, earth to their spirits, nourishment to their minds and bodies.
Thank you for the many many days you go off to work, missing so many of the small daily and intimate family moments to provide for your family. This ongoing gesture of Love is so appreciated. And thank you for all the times you don’t go off to work and stay home to tend to the hearth, to hang out with family!
Thank you for leading with what you sense and know is possible, rather than limiting your fathering to what was given to you, as well-meant and magnificent, challenging or stuck as that may have been.
Thank you for every time you allow your heart to soften, and encourage your sons’ and daughters’ hearts to soften, showing them that we humans can be both brave and tender.
Thank you for the confident and calm boundaries you set, allowing your children to run free, guided by handrails and accountability.
Thank you for the manageable challenges you provide, the stretches that make space for your child to grow into his and her potential.
Thank you for modelling what evolving fatherhood looks like. Today we celebrate you with full hearts and much gratitude!
In my work with fathers, I get to witness the incredible dedication, love and care fathers have for their children. It is humbling and incredibly inspiring. I thank you for this too.
Today I light a candle for you all and offer this wish, this prayer:
May you receive in giving.
May you feel loved in loving.
May you heal in discovering your own vulnerability and strength.
May you stand for justice and truth, kindness and compassion.
May you find Joy in providing Joy for your, for all our young ones.
And may you continue to evolve what is possible as FATHER.
Every blessing for each step along your journey.
All my love, Miriam
Dearest ones – mamas and mothering ones, all of you who pour your hearts and minds, bodies and souls into nurturing and sustaining Life in its myriad forms – so, to all of you, blessed keepers of the Hearth,
I wish you a most blessed mother’s day!
As I sit quietly at the dawn of this day, present with Mother’s Day, many strands of the mothering adventure come to heart and mind…
the impossible task it presents – to love so completely, to be carved out in surrender to a child, and then be required to release, to let go.
the yearning to be mother to a child that may go unmet, and the depth of ache and sorrow this leaves in many.
the bounty of love poured in this world, day by day, moment by moment, by all who mother, taking care of Life, watering it and helping it grow.
the overwhelm and loneliness that mothers sometimes experience when the village isn’t there.
the pivotal place you stand as mother between how you were mothered and how you choose to mother, calling forth healing, integration, and renewal so that Love can flourish more fully in the future.
the grief that never fully ends when a child dies. the love that continues forever.
the cycle of nurturing continued as children grow up and nurture their aging parents. That, the mothering force in action too.
the many ways beyond mothering a child that mothering takes – in the aunties of this world, in the listeners and birthers of new, in each and every moment your magnificent heart opens to presence, to pouring care and love into another.
the mamas to newborns this year. May you feel enfolded in our love and support for you, as you navigate that first incredible, crazy, all-encompassing year.
the love that widens us, grows us, deepens us as we tend to our children, day in, day out.
With you, I honor and celebrate these and all the unspoken and unseen dimensions on motherhood today.
Thank you for every ounce, every caress, every snack, every note and prayer and stitch and vision and hope and sweat and dance of Mother-Love you share with the world. Thank you for You!
Take a moment to allow yourself to really feel seen in this mothering work you do. Because it takes you softening the layer of protection you may hold around your heart, to let it in. Then Mother’s Day can actually “land” in you.
And know, wherever you are, however mothering shows up in your life, that you are not alone. We only seem separate. Truly, we are all travelling together in one big caravan. Your tears are our tears. Your joys are our joys. Your concerns are our concerns. Your hopes are our hopes. Your children are our children.
Whenever we mother, we mother for the Whole.
With all my love, and much gladness to be journeying with you along the path of mothering,
You know those moments just before a symphony concert, when the audience is settling, the last rustlings of handbags and programs travel across the space, the air is sparkling with anticipation… and the musicians are tuning their instruments…
That sound. A wild-yet-synchronized cacophony of violins, cellos, double bass, clarinets, flutes, trumpets and harps sliding up to a sharp, down to a flat, up again a slice, down another, and then there it is: landing just so, placed on pitch, tuned and ready. Quiet. Poised. Deep breath, in and out. And Go. The concerto (from the latin concertare, which means to harmonize) can begin.
Similarly at a band practice, or alone with your fiddle in the living room: before you play, you tune your instrument. You know what happens if you don’t. The ensuing tunes will sound either slightly off or quite terrible, possibly even make a piece of music unrecognizable. I know. We have a harp in our house, and if it ain’t tuned, it doesn’t do the harp-thing at all.
When it comes to making music, this is all clear and accepted. It is the norm. We tune the instrument before we play it. If ever we drift out of tune we retune.
Now how about the rest of our lives, all those instances when we ourselves are the instrument?
Think of all the ways we relate to one another, the many ways we “make music” together (or not!) through our words, gestures, tone of voice, emotional quality, body posture: in conversations with our friends, our spouses and partners, in the interactions we share with our children, the myriad moments of engaging with one another on a daily basis.
Do we come at these tuned? Or out of tune? As we all know, the results vary hugely, depending.
When I tune my instrument – my self – I become present. I am both relaxed and attentive. My breath is calm. My emotions are regulated. I can make eye contact. I am at home within myself, and I listen and speak from this inner home. I don’t jump to conclusions. I remain curious, open-minded, soft-hearted.
When I am out of tune, I tend to be tense, turbulent, quick to react, defensive or avoidant, irritable, impatient, caught up in emotional storms, and often covering vulnerability with a hardened shell.
I’ve tested both versions many times – inadvertently and on purpose. The ensuing quality of connection is starkly different. Without fail, the former allows for greater intimacy, insight and connection. The latter tends to propel a relationship in a downward spiral, toward misunderstanding, hurt and separation.
We are hardwired to react when feeling threatened. We can quickly move to defense, offense or shutdown when we don’t feel safe in a relationship, when we are not met with empathy, kindness, and patience. Staying tuned in the fray of relating takes practice, lots of it!
I encourage my clients to practice tuning themselves for and in all their relationships, especially in their closest ones, with partner and kid(s). I explore with them how they can best regulate their emotions and get in touch with their inner home. Then I send them off with this homework: “When you’re ‘on’, engage. When you’re ‘off’, stop and recalibrate yourself. Make this a priority and see what happens.” The results are worth the while.
My husband and I practice daily too, have been for years now – as said, it takes plenty of practice! We have agreed that whenever we get ‘out of tune’, we pause the conversation and do whatever it takes to get back in tune. This is our priority. It can lead to rather abrupt ends to conversations, but we have consistently found that those stubborn “We will talk this through no matter what marathons” really don’t lead anywhere useful and tend to leave us both depleted.
Another place I get to practice daily is with my daughter. Just the other day, I was about to ask her for the fourth time if she could empty the dishwasher. I was getting aggravated and about to nag. On that day, in that moment, I caught myself just in time. I noticed where I was coming from, the irritated state I was in, and remembered my “being in tune before playing music” commitment. I took a deep breath. I let it go, refreshing my intention to communicate when “in tune”. By the time I was back in tune, the dishwasher was empty.
What if we check in with ourselves before each and every conversation and notice whether we are out of tune or in tune? And what if, whenever we slide out of tune, we stop what we are doing and retune before continuing?
It sounds so simple, yes? It is not necessarily easy; but it is a simple, straightforward, and extremely effective in navigating all our relationships with greater ease and grace. Tuning recalibrates us, allowing more consciousness to enter any relationship.
To make this a handy tool, I break this practice down into a few steps for you:
1) Awareness. This is where it all begins.
How am I doing as I enter this interaction? Am I emotionally calm, clear-minded, open-hearted, centered, curious?
Or am I out of tune?
Am I either ‘sharp’ – tense, high-strung, wound up, tight, reactive, full of emotions that need empathy, release and regulation…?
Or ‘flat’ – not fully here, not engaged, tired, not caring enough, feeling victimized, distracted, have I already given up…?
2) Commitment. Imagine a world in which we tune ourselves consistently before engaging with one another… as neighbor and friend, as partner, lover, parent, teacher, politician. Imagine a partnership in which you only ‘play music’ when you are both tuned. Imagine parenting with this awareness. The results are well worth the commitment.
Commit to only communicating when “on” (grounded, open soft heart, centered).
When you feel “off” (contracted, tense, shut down, defensive), pause and instead do a time-in (time to regulate until ready to communicate again). Whoever notices the “off-ness” calls a time-in. No discussion. Just time to regulate, recalibrate, each in one’s own way. It takes discipline to contain the momentum of reaction.
3) Regulate. As needed, regulate. Do whatever it takes to tune yourself-as-instrument. For each of us, this may look differently. Here are some ideas (find out what works best for you): Go outside; take a walk; drink water; breath; put your hand on your heart and remember you are loved; meditate; stretch your arms up and out and remind yourself that Life is not ‘out to get you’ (nor is your spouse or your kid, generally they are just working from the capacity they can access in any given moment); take a nap; dance; have a shower; cry and release any pent-up emotions until your heart is softened; talk with a friend, listen to music; and breath some more, focusing especially on your outbreath.
More in-depth regulation involves tracking reactive patterns, noticing predictable triggers, doing shadow work, somatic trauma release, and making use of any other ways we change our state to gain insight and heal the un-integrated aspects of our self. Becoming whole is a journey. Working with a therapist or a mentor can be very helpful. You don’t have to do this alone.
4) Reconnect with ongoing awareness. When you feel regulated again, check in with your partner, your child, your friend: “Is now a good time to pick up where we left off? If not, let’s set a time for that.”
Then, when you try again, repeat and keep going for as long as you can, while remaining open-hearted and centered. As soon as you trip up and slide ”off”, repeat the regulation practices.
And whenever possible, tune while interacting! This involves ongoing regulation, which hinges upon ongoing inner body scanning for sensations (tension registers there first). Pay attention, and you’ll notice a ‘storm’ brewing before it erupts. As soon as you notice early signs of arousal, you can regulate (deep relaxed breathing and soothing hand on heart) while continuing the conversation, becoming a virtuoso — a truly skilled ‘musician’.
5) Practice. Awareness is like a muscle. Regulating is a learned skill. They both take practice and witnessing presence. You will stumble. You will trip. But over time, one interaction after the other, gradually, you will build momentum for a safe, joyful, conscious container to relate, to communicate, to make ‘music’ together. Over time you will become adept at navigating through challenging patches and phrases in your conversations and interactions.
This ongoing tuning is a core skill in approaching parenting as a spiritual practice.
It is foundational for conscious partnering.
To become aware of when we are off-key, to then bring ourselves into tune, and to play from there: that’s where the music happens.
Then you have readied yourself for the duet, for the band practice, the symphony orchestra, the love-in-action.
Then you are modeling for your child how s/he can calm down, communicate and learn to self-regulate.
Then you are conversing with your partner in a shared container that allows for deeper understanding and insight, rather than throwing gas on a fire, speaking words you later regret, and going at it from an aroused system rather than a grounded, clear-minded one.
So, next time you are about to chat with your partner, check in with yourself first: is my self-as-instrument tuned?
If yes, go ahead. If not, go tune yourself. And if you slide out of tune during any interaction, pause and re-tune. As you get more adept, you will be able to tune and retune right in the midst of your interactions.
If you would like to join me and a wonderful, international group of parents as we explore these kinds of practices and how they can be applied to parenting, I invite you to “Parenting as a Spiritual Practice“ – an 8-week online course that runs May. 1 – June. 26, 2017.
This course is designed to bring to life the full potential of parenthood: a transformative vessel for evolving yourself, your child, and the future. During these eight weeks I offer you perspectives, practices, discernment and insight that will help you discover an unshakeable ease and delight amidst the inevitable ups, downs and doubts of parenting. >> www.integralparenting.com
FROM THE OUTSIDE IN ~
So much of my focus – in both my personal life and work with clients – is to explore, practice and ignite CHANGE from the inside out.
But! There is also the other way, which is to go at change from the OUTSIDE IN.
I first came to really appreciate this approach to change, healing and development during the writing of my Masters thesis on Dance Therapy in 1994. Studying the pioneers of this therapy form, a thread ran through that spoke of changing the body to change the mind. Moving the body to discover new states and perspectives. Working with the body to grow new wings – to play with contrast, to expand beyond familiar habits and ruts, to discover other ways of being and living.
To remind myself of this option, I keep this little figurine on my desk. My daughter gave it to me for Christmas a couple years ago. It makes me smile every time i look at it.
Today, a day that feels a little grey to me… a friend speaks of the “lovely spring rain” in an email, whereas I’m seeing the dreary non-color of snow-melt-not-yet-spring reflecting my interior… I look upon this wee statue and remember. I stretch out my arms, even though really I feel like crawling under a blanket. I smile as I stand in the shower. I lift the muscles in my body, inviting in an interior lift. a change of state.
Does it work? A little. And sometimes a lot. To shake it loose, those blues. To not take them so seriously. To shift state like clouds moving across the sky. To remember: I HAVE emotions, they inform me, they move through me, they are part of my humanness and often carry important (and sometimes skewed) messages. But I AM NOT my emotions.
In addition to all my own focus and my coaching and counselling with others on noticing, being present to and learning from the emotions that move through us, there is also this, and it is such an important “also”: To not take our emotional states so seriously all the time.
Can we do both?
Be present to them. Witness. Empathize with ourselves and others. Let those feelings move.
AND remember: I am not my emotions. I have freedom to change – both from the inside out, and from the outside in. Because I am a unity – there is no clear line between where my inside and outside start and end – CHANGE is most effective when I do both, listening to the moment… is this a time to give in to the pull from beneath that blanket? Or is this moment to say to myself “Just drop it, love, stretch out those arms, remember to expand and shake it loose?
Is this a moment to feel-think myself into acting, or is this a moment to act myself into thinking-feeling?
To discern what is truly called for in any moment takes practice. Lots of it.
Today I choose some of the “outstretched arms” and some of the “simply be present with the feelings”. As the day progresses, the state shifts, the light changes, the weather pattern moves on, and space opens up for new Life, new moments.
And you? Perhaps today as you parent, as you relate, as you live this human adventure, stretch your arms out, take some deep breaths, and shake whatever may be bogging you down, so that a new moment, a new choice, a new possibility emerges.
With love, m