|Photo credit: J. Scott Bovitz|
I am noticing that in a sea of noises, of being jostled about, of many things vying for attention, underneath, and above, and through it all there is a witnessing energy. It is light, it is radiant, and it knows no bounds. It isn't blocked by bumping up into form, shapes that cast shadow and block light. It is everywhere. It permeates everywhere and everything. It isn't chasing and pushing. It is absolute allowing.
I notice that it is what I am made of, but that I am most aware of it only when the rigid parts of me soften, when I step back from the story and see our human experience from the vantage point of an airplane window, when the cars take on a toy-like appearance, flitting about down long winding highways, completely dwarfed by the craggy mountains, and the people look like ants, going about their daily activities. It is a playful world, from such heights, filling the moment with childlike wonder that we could reach down and pick up cute little cars, and people and experience them like we might our pets.
Drawing down to earth, the experience of this into daily living, becomes so wonder-full.
Such wonder...even up close.
My father shares how he has started sketching after decades, and can only barely touch upon his experience of it to me, because of the emotion in his voice, at touching into something sacred and vital.
My mother is living the wandering life, and more alive than ever. She has given herself a permission to wander until she is done wandering, which makes me giggle with deep soul resonance rising up from my belly, and fierce adoration for a woman, allowing herself to be animated from the depths of her, and radiating it out for me to behold. And what she is leaving in her wake...true love.
My fellow humans I meet, continue to out themselves, their true natures, their gifts, in the most spectacular of ways, and their gifts keep landing in my lap.
My creations, which keep me in perpetual awe at their meaningfulness to my soul and human experience, outside of any needing to 'make it' or to be approved of by anyone who plays that kind of game. Rather finding my own hallelujah chorus.
I am understanding how healing is creating, and creating is healing. And how we have no idea how powerful and far reaching it can be, even to ourselves, until we take those first tentative steps to become a conduit for something wishing to express and become animated through us.
I am in such awe. It is such a soft awe. Seems the more I become in touch with, and integrated with the magic in every ordinary present moment, the softer it becomes. Less extreme feel the highs and the lows, more a centering and focusing of experience, which causes living to be experienced very differently. Perceptually, time feels very much less linear, and more simultaneous--or perhaps timeless. Instead of chasing the right way, the alive way feels gifted and natural. Experiences present themselves. Next steps are born out of a desire for more aliveness--like the other day when I picked up a can of chicken noodle soup off the shelf at the supermarket, and felt something else wanting to be known through me. I put the can down, and proceeded to spend the day making the soup from scratch, right down to the chicken stock, savoring, engaged, enlivened, soft and clear-- and outside of and ideas of being good enough, outside of being imperfect or perfect--just immersed in the experience.
So full. I know my soul has been crying out for this return, from my very first awareness of my footsteps on this planet.
Aww, my favorite Rumi poem fits here:
Beyond our ideas of right-doing and wrong-doing, there is a field
I’ll meet you there
When the soul lies down in that grass, and the world is too full to talk about
Ideas, language, even the phrase ‘each other’ doesn't make sense any more.
I am here. I am so grateful. This Thanksgiving, I am spilling over with gratitude, and it is starting to feel more permanent--living with much more ease and Grace, a much more powerful sense of sweet, unconditional Love, everywhere I turn.