I sit here next to a big tree with white flowers just past their blooming stage. The tree buzzes with bees and wasps and a bird sits inside, singing a long song.
For a week or so, I feel like I’ve been in a cave of sorts. Quiet, buried, still. I tried not to speak with anyone. I didn’t go on my usual runs or do my weight training. I barely danced or even woke up before late afternoon.
I felt all I was doing before slip away beneath my feet, unsure whether I was lifting off the ground or whether the ground was sinking. I meditated and I tried to do some things that kept me at least a little awake to the world.
The pulse of my life’s heartbeat seemed to have slowed and barely made a ripple as it flowed through my being. I was still getting insights, deeper understanding and knowing, and yet I was far away.
The lens focused on my life had zoomed out, far away from any specifics I was nurturing before. I had a theory that perhaps I was feeling my life’s movement. Maybe I was changing direction. Perhaps I had to slow down and zoom out to make some kind of shift.
Yesterday, I felt the energy quicken again. That feeling when you’re trying to solve a problem and you’re looking at all the pieces and suddenly, it all becomes clear. You see which pieces need to move where and the flow of Answer whips through you.
I couldn’t see the pieces specifically, but I could feel them. I could feel myself preparing for something. The shapeless started taking shape in my mind and that same lens starting zooming back in.
Where would I go from here? What was next for me as the country started to reawaken?
My mind went a thousand different ways, flurrying into a panic. And just as quickly as I rose off the ground in a tornado of confusion, a stream of thought gently laid me back down.
Just take it one step at a time.
Oh yes, that incredibly simple advice that I often blow right past in my attempts to control the uncontrollable.
I felt such relief. Yes, I could take it one step at a time. I could feel my way through. I’m good at that. I could focus on today and trust that what I need for tomorrow will arrive.
I remembered that I am not in charge of the universe, or this planet or even the flow of my own life. I’m responsible for my thoughts, my intentions, and my willingness to trust and follow impulses and inspiration. I, in fact, do not bring up the sun or make the birds sing.
I am Part Of this greater existence, this greater heartbeat of life. I could never be alone or forgotten, nor am I responsible for making life Work.
I took a deep breath. I paused to smell the varied fragrances of the garden around me and to watch the birds gliding across the blue sky above me. I felt the presence of creation and the aliveness in it all – including myself.
The trees around me didn’t look worried. Nor did the grass or the soil or the bushes. The sky hung over us quietly and a breeze sleepily rattled the leaves high above the ground.
What wisdom did they know that kept them so steady? Were we more wise than the trees and all of nature? Are we aware of something they are not aware of? Or is it foolishness that causes us to wring our hands in worry and anguish while they continue to exist, steadily and surely?
I do not think I am wiser than the trees or the birds or the bees. A quiet knowing beats in them and it must beat in me as well. Somewhere behind thought and underneath judgement, I believe that same knowing speaks. So, I’ll listen. I’ll trust.
Maybe it’s easier to listen when life moves slowly. But I’ll have to feel out a way to listen when life moves quickly too. To stay in rhythm with that ultimate knowing. I feel this is more important now than ever before. I can’t let the distractions and noise of life carry me away from myself, back into the grind of complacency and compliance.
Every morning I have to pledge to stay awake. To remain willing to listen to the knowing that sustains all life. To hold this to be true and above all other illusion that blinks in and out of my waking life.
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