She thought she’d handled her move from house to house fairly well, thank you, all things considered.
But today, no.
Human-leaving-the-house-behind-where-they’d-lived-and-loved met up with the mystery of the missing stapler.
It’s possible the human threw a thing or two, then like loose rags, she dropped.
Not about the stapler.
You see, when least expected, a heaven full of sky blue ribbons holding her life together untied themselves. Underneath, thousands of shimmering tethers to her past snapped, spilling light everywhere.
That’s when her heart poured.
She said at last, “I wonder if this is the feel of freedom ….”
Wisdom calls gently to learn in slow motion. Walk wide awake through things you’d rather not feel, find self-compassion, notice beliefs you’ve accumulated, realize what’s actually true.
Wisdom holds the clarity to know that what you resist holds your greatest surprise-teachings. That big rock over to your left appears ominous, but holds secrets that will help you.
Don’t run. Don’t hide.
Take a deep breath and lift the edge of the dark rock long enough to view its underbelly. This seems counterintuitive, yes, but ultimately it’s revealing. Illuminating. Liberating. Enlivening.
Some of your brilliant, bold light is under that rock.
Remember when you were 16 and you believed your physical appearance needed improvement?
Later at 30 or 40, same thing. Something about you was below par. Unperfect. Not acceptable.
You’re older now, with the song of imperfection (still) singing in the background about wrinkles, effects of gravity, weight. Whatever.
Recently you and your sisters thumbed through old photos — and realized how gorgeous you all were then! Dripping with beauty, full of light. Vibrant and bright-hearted. You had no clue!
Here’s the plan. Grab my hand, go with me, let’s fast forward to 92 looking back. How lovely we were — now!
Beautiful one, you rock!
The morning teacher seemed friendly enough.
She mostly dished kindness, but here and there, something spat sideways from her beautiful offering bowl . A dollop of derision, for instance, placed perfectly atop the morning porridge. A sprinkle of disgust mixed with the crystal clear sugar. Disdain, just a touch, floating in the pretty peaches and cream.
This surprised me — every time — until I clarified my thought-butter.
Does scorn hide in the covered corners of my pantry? Does my upper lip curl (even slightly) upon detecting (fear parading as) prejudice, hate in others?
And, do I notice?
Where’s my oatmeal-blueberry love then?
There I was all by myself, minding my own business, when Morning Glory climbed onto the porch, reaching out in five or six directions, dropping conversational color everywhere.
What a miracle to be alone, then suddenly offered such bright company.
Glory said, “Hello, I’m here for you, want to talk?”
How generous of her, how brilliant, how refined. She must have been feeling magna cum beautiful, brimming with a Master’s in Purple.
The casual, confident climbing. The lavish, vibrant offering. The gift of full presence.
I, simple human, aspire to all of these. My friend Ms. Glory already knows how.