too much of our culture is about
we’re wired to grow and evolve,
and yet we believe it’s something
we have to make happen. that we have to fight
instead, can we clear the space
necessary for the changes to
take place on their own?
yes, some work from us is necessary and helpful,
but what’s even better is
allowing the work to work itself out on
this is why i believe
doing nothing is the first step to doing anything.
we need to land in our lives
we need to know where we’re at so
we can make informed decisions
about where we’d like to go next
so we’re not left at the mercy of the wind
to carry us on it invisible
strings and tendrils.
to do nothing is to come home.
to be with what is instead
of run from what we wish wasn’t.
everything in our world
tells us to do differently.
to go for it,
to work hard at becoming the
person we want to be.
to do nothing, though,
can mean we open to the reality
of who we already are.
we can see we’re enough,
and okay, without needing to change
because changing anything from a place
of fear only reinforces our lack.
do nothing and become everything.
or simply be okay.
go out into the wind
and look up into the sky.
watch the trees
endlessly as the gusts
churn like sea waves.
remember that there was a time when you
when all of you sat at one table,
each part welcome because there
was a deep knowing that the parts
comprise the whole.
it hasn’t always been true
that there are parts of you unwanted.
parts that shouldn’t be here.
this is something learned,
the teachings coming in their various forms:
relationships and media specifically.
we learn to shut off what others couldn’t,
learn to be with. it’s truly a brilliant design,
until it becomes more entrapping than helpful.
this is when we muster up the courage
to gather the lost parts.
this isn’t always easy,
as it involves feeling the
original pain that led to the severance
of our selves.
each part carries with it a story.
perhaps one of betrayal or abuse,
longing or loneliness.
each part wants its rightful place at the table.
that place where there is safety in numbers.
where it can find solace in simply being
each part makes contact
with the others.
a conversation begins that slowly
builds to a soft, rhythmic melody of the
parts working together as a whole.
i see you there.
turning away in shame.
afraid of what others will think
if you actually allow yourself to say
what’s really on your mind.
i see you there.
wanting desperately to break out
of the chains that bind you.
the stories wrapped so tightly around
your gentle heart
and soft soul
that you’re not sure, exactly, just
who you are anymore.
i see you there.
in your vulnerability. in your quest
for answers and your search for truth.
i’ll meet you in the forest, and
together we’ll trek our way through
the brush and thorns and stop
every now and then
to admire the hawk above us or the ants below us.
and in that forest, sometimes
we’ll burn a fire, watching in admiration as
the shadows dance together through the trees.
you’ll tell me your stories behind the stories.
you know the ones.
the ones you’ve longed to tell, have been trying to tell.
i’ll help you develop a language for
the depths of your beauty and searing pain.
the pain you think is unending. the beauty you think is
i see you there.
all of you.
and you’re glorious.
the snow rests like a pillow for our thoughts.
it sits with arms open, the soft “shhh” whispering from its lips,
guiding us to sit next to it in gentle silence.
the snow guides us into hibernation, into our warm spaces we call home
where we do the hard work of turning inward during the
season of darkness.
the snow says, “embrace the stillness. be quiet with me.”
it’s during this season, the season of darkness, that we can come
into contact with the places gone hidden. it’s a bit ironic that
it’s only when we shine our lights in the dark can we see what’s been
there all along.
that it’s really in the dark we begin to uncover. to see. to know.
and in order to embrace, we must grow still enough to
hear the plant growing, the spider crawling, the snow falling.
may you allow yourself this time during this frenzied pace that has
become the holiday season. may you learn to embrace the stillness all
around and inside you.
there is a place you must go when you find yourself in no place.
this place doesn’t exist for those who already have a place.
no. this place is special.
it’s where alchemy is born. where dark is light and light dark.
where nonsense is sensical.
where whispers are songs and walks dances.
it’s the place between places.
where clothes come off and all is exposed. where the wounds of the
heart receive tender attention. where the sheep in wolf’s clothing can
reveal it’s sadness for having to pretend to be another. where fear
becomes a friend and love your biggest ally.
this place between places is where you’re stripped clean of all you
knew to protect. armorless, you begin to realize your own words
have been your strongest weapons, most likely trapped behind your
shield and forced back upon you.
whether willing or forced, finding yourself in this place between places
is your greatest gift. to get out, you must work. work can be slow or fast,
arduous or simple. but work you must.
because to be in this place forever is never the plan. just as day turns to dusk
turns to night turns to dawn turns to day again, so too will you transition
in and out of this place.
the world needs you to report back that all is not lost when the lights go out.
that it’s actually in the dark one develops night vision.
that the dark is only as dark as the light bright.
that sometimes the life wanting to be lived lies in the shadow.
what are the songs you
long to sing?
the ones whose tunes effortlessly
drip off your tongue.
whose notes tumble over your
vocal chords like the water of
a babbling brook, or the
low rumble of afternoon
what are the stories you
wish to tell?
the ones full of sweet whispers
of truth, beckoning the nods
of strangers and lighting
souls up like lanterns.
the stories for which there are
what are the dances you wish
the ones that move through you,
taking your body along for the
ride. the ones that are slow and
fast and asymmetrical. the ones
that summon the tides of emotion
and sweep away the cobwebs of
what are the dreams you wish
the pictures of yearning and
meaning and truth.
the ones whose images infuse
the silence with psyche’s
personal language, the one only
she can speak and comprehend.
the dreams that require no words
and yet reach out to the dreamer with
grasping arms and pleas to be
from what cages to you wish to
the ones that mute the song and
stifle the story.
the ones that cripple the dance and
pinch the dreamer by walls
the ones without doors or windows
or locks, that are fashioned out of
wring yourself out of the cage’s
pores. you needn’t be trapped