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Every Gesture a Prayer

                                                                             Photo found Here

I am starting the second half of my 40 days of writing. I would say that more than birthing any great content, I have been able to become a great observer of my process.

I see how little I allow myself to actually have a process, and assume that my creations should be pop out fully formed and perfect, but how the very mind that requires this, is also the same perspective that puts a giant black X through the ideas and dismisses and passes by little gems of writing. I once had a professor who dismissed my piano playing as painful to listen to. I'll never forget him pacing through the hall, turning his keys aggressively enough for me to hear in his pocket, as I played Beethoven. This made me work harder for his approval, but I realize that the magic of Beethoven was largely dead to me in striving for this approval. And what I heard at that time in my life was, why are you even in the game?! Who do you think you are?

I'd like to come at students from the perspective of, thank god you are in the game! I can't wait to see what your gifts are, what you are drawn to, and what this tells you about yourself and your mythical adventure here on earth! Wow, that rendition of Beethoven was pretty dead. Why do you think that is? Let's go exploring! This is going to be awesome!! I wonder what you will do with Beethoven that nobody has ever done! Thank you for being here with me to have this experience of exploration. It is so much better with you here! We can do so much together!

I love that showing up daily for writing is making me look closely at this propensity of mine to let that professor butt in to my writing too.

I see how it is pervasive through out my entire experience.

So, my prayer and awareness for today is that I allow myself to be in a process of becoming. Yes, even at 38-years-old.

I open up the messiness of reality, and I see the opportunities for creation in each moment.

It isn't about cleaning up the messes, and being technically perfect-- it is about feeling a spark of creativity about what I am facing right now. Perhaps this is what I have been looking to find all my life--the technical perfection, alive and on fire, coming from the energy of engagement and exploration--seeing what is possible and then going for it, because it is awesome to see what we can do. Coming at achievement from the deep joy of realizing our potential, rather than hoping we measure up.

I look around my house. It has certainly been missing some tender loving care lately. But when I open up this magical perspective, tending to it feels more like an opportunity to get intimate with something inviting me to play.

An invitation to soften all the hard edges of thought...

Laundry. An opportunity to, with childlike delight, fill big plastic baskets that children so love to hide in (or trap pets in)! Bring the baskets to the big square box that fills with water, pour fragrant blue soap into the machine, and at the turn of a dial, watch the machine dance and spin on its own timer, to wind itself down and bring  me fresh, rung out clothes to put in the big white mystery of a box next to it, that warms and fluffs, with kitten softness. Clean clothes, ready to be folded, to help us feel refreshed, protected, beautified, cuddled.

Dirty dishes. The echos of our tummies being filled the night before. Abundance on our plates, as we sit and break bread together. The joy of cleaning those dishes, and refreshing them for the next time we come together.

The bills that need to be paid. Piles of mail. An opportunity to walk step by step, getting more and more comfortable with the DISCOMFORT of whether or not I will have enough--the forever siren in my head--whether or not I will be forgiven when it all comes tumbling down. Learning how to take one step in front of the other, outside of a judgmental mind who has me burning in hell for not being Suze Orman. Wait, didn't I have that struggle with Martha Stewart? That one doesn't weigh so heavily on my mind anymore--but money has been a focus as of late. It seems to be rocking my DNA through and through.

So, an invitation to see the softness of a world without Suze Orman's--or experts of any type--a society shaking their keys in their pockets at me and the way I dance. A place where you cannot be faulted, but rather are given what you are needed, because it is your divine inheritance to be sustained, as easy as it is to take in breath--freely given, enough for everyone. There seems to be a great secret truth to the breath, that uncovers a reality of something known deep inside when the fear resides, something sacred. AKA Free Lunch.

My children--fledgling creators. One is making the most wonderful jewelry--just right for the ears of children, not too heavy, but not lacking in fashion sense. The other is making little felt animals with big eyes and bright colors. There they are working all day, during their summer daze, and I watch them focused, hands engaged, brains engaged, hearts engaged. Hope engaged. Yesterday I wore a pair of my daughter's earrings, and someone at the store said right in front of my daughter. "I love your earrings." My daughter chimed in with deep pride. "I made them!" She went home to make 20 more pairs. I love her 8-year-old ability to honor herself. My desire is to help this grow in her. To help her grow in herself and to watch her creation evolve, because it is crazy fun and exciting to create and to have people fall in love with your creations--and to recognize that ephemeral nature of this, that begs us to keep creating, and to love other people's creations too, and to take turns being at the apex of being loved and adored!

The invitation for daily creation. Each gesture a prayer. Doesn't matter what I am doing. Laundry, dishes, paying bills, trying my hand at writing, observing myself, observing my children. I know it to be a prayer, and my prayer is that I know this truth more and more, feel this, speak this, emanate this...

Soften the harsh edges. Bring me here to now. It doesn't matter what I am doing, but let me do it with all my heart. Let me dance. Let me embrace the in between moments, the waiting, the wanting, the hoping, the fearing--as all of it, as the 'lure of becoming' as Jean Houston so beautifully calls it. 

Let me not get ahead of myself and judge the race too soon. Let me wake up and see that the race is so incredibly fun to be a part of, that it was never about winning or measuring up--it is about noticing what is on the way. NOTICING WHAT IS HERE IN EACH MOMENT, THAT IS A LIFELINE TO A BIGGER PICTURE AND RICHER EXPERIENCE. Let me stop trying to chop it all up nicely into perfect, even little parts, but to let it take various shapes, like pebbles on a beach, where the surprise is finding that perfectly heart-shaped rock, that you must pick up and put in your pocket, and display on a table later.

This dance I am doing, is so precious. Let me remember it in each moment, that every breath is a gift. There is great love here. In any moment I can see and feel this great love. The sharp corners can become curious, the challenges of opening to abundance and releasing scarcity thinking can become adventurous. Love can bring a rosy glow to every moment, every step of creation--and every step can be creation. 

Every step can be accompanied with a song of the heart.

Let me remember. I am ready to remember in every moment. Thank you for the opportunities I've had to remember:

That whimsical prompting to adorn the table with my beautiful cream and honey bowl for my daughter's oatmeal yesterday morning. That little extra step to create magic--the excitement at bringing them to the table.

Cleaning my beloved man's house the other day, and taking care of his children so he could have a day of biking in the mountains with a friend--and how fun it felt to be doing normal tasks of taking care of children and cleaning the house, but because they weren't my kids or house, being free of worrying about his house having to be perfect, or the heaviness of his kids needing to turn out okay in their lives. The knowing was that it was all perfect.

And there was Grace.

The children adored me. I adored me. I can bring this home to my house and kids. Stop the endless cleaning toward perfection, to play games with my own kids, to use our imaginations together--our Sunday pancakes and painting--to make it happen. To sing together.

I can let go of the heaviness that they won't be all right, that it will be my fault, that there is something I must do to make sure my kids have a steady trajectory to well-being on physical, spiritual and mental levels. Such pressure! How to kill the music before it is sung! How to shake my keys at burgeoning life!

Yes, I can remember these little ones, that although, are not biologically mine, got the best of me, got my trust, my patience, my playfulness, my joyful engaging.

It is in me. It is there. What a something to celebrate!

And what a gift to have in my life. The knowing that I can play my role in a new way, and bring back that new way to amass parts of my soul back to me that know beyond a shadow of a doubt, that heaven is here now, if only we might look upon it with the freshness of eyes filled with magic and wonder. 

What I teach, and clearly, what I need to deeply know to teach it.

May I forever remember the magic. May I forever come to commune with my remembering, whether it be in action in my life, or through words on this page, and may I, no matter the fear and doubt, the monsters, the sinister laughter, always focus on sharing that magic--sharing the magic, no matter what may come.


  1. Thank you for this beautiful reminder that we are always creating, always praying.

    Write on, bloom on!

  2. Brooke, what a glorious post. Your descriptions were stunning, particularly the one about doing laundry, which I happen to be doing this very moment;) Your words lifted my morning soul which has a tendency to slouch on grey mornings such as this. I needed the boost so that I could see over the fence of resistance to life that I've erected over the years.
    Thank you for sharing your magic in spite of the voices. You really are magic Brooke, and never mind trying your hand at are a writer. A beautiful writer. I never jingle my keys when reading your words.


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