I am making a home inside myself. A shelter of kindness where everything is forgiven, everything allowed—a quiet patch of sunlight to stretch out without hurry, where all that has been banished and buried is welcomed, spoken, listened to—released.
A fiercely friendly place I can claim as my very own.
I am throwing arms open to the whole of myself—especially the fearful, fault-finding, falling apart, unfinished parts, knowing every seed and weed, every drop of rain, has made the soil richer.
I will light a candle, pour a hot cup of tea, gather around the warmth of my own blazing fire. I will howl if I want to, knowing this flame can burn through any perceived problem, any prescribed perfectionism, any lying limitation, every heavy thing.
I am making a home inside myself where grace blooms in grand and glorious abundance, a shelter of kindness that grows all the truest things.
I whisper hallelujah to the friendly sky. Watch now as I burst into blossom.
Post Title & Inspiration: Aldous Huxley: “It’s dark because you are trying too hard. Lightly child, lightly. Learn to do everything lightly. Yes, feel lightly even though you’re feeling deeply. Just lightly let things happen and lightly cope with them.
Our lives seem to consist of a string of moments. I get up in the morning, and the moments just tick off as I go through the day. And usually, we greet each moment, if we’re honest about it, with a little twist of a reaction in our mind. And that reaction is: “I like this, but I don’t like that.” Or, “I’m neutral about it.” It’s the same with the people who cross our path: “I like them,” or “I don’t like them,” or “I haven’t thought about it.” Particularly, this is how we respond to the tasks that confront us during the day: “I don’t want to do that; it doesn’t suit me.” Or, “It’s okay with me; I’m glad to do that.” We live as if we have a little judge that’s sitting inside of us, wagging a finger at everything. Now, we’re not really living our life; we’re just trying to get it all fixed so it suits the judge. We can’t enjoy our experience or other people because the judgment and the emotion, this concoction in our head, runs our life.
Our practice enables us to take the ordinary moments of our life—one after another—and experience them without judging, trying to fix, holding tightly, or running away. Suppose I’m a quiet person, and I meet somebody who is noisy and boisterous. My first thought may be, “I don’t like her.” The judgment has already pushed me into withdrawing. The only thing we know is the fact that we are reacting. Often, we don’t even notice we are reacting; we just react, react, react, and react. It probably occurs a thousand times a day—almost constantly.
