Rock Water Self

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Outside the lake home window I watch the water meet the rock. The water swirls around it. It sweeps on top of it. At times, it crashes right into it and whatever the water does, the rock remains strong, still, stable, unmoved. There’s a lesson here, I think. Can I be like that rock when the waves come crashing in? Can I be like the water, swirling around the rock? Can I ebb and flow and also remain steady and secure? Can I be both the rock and the water?

What if the water resisted the rock? Would the water flow? What if the rock resisted the water? Would the rock be shaped? Resistance of any kind would halt the movement and freedom of the water and would cease to shape and mold the rock. How stagnant do I become in my resistance? How do I miss the caress of the water? If the water does not crash upon me how will I be changed? How will I grow?

As I watch the dance between rock and water, non-resistance becomes the goal.

Where I Sit.

Straight ahead from where I sit there is a middle path. To my right, another. And another to my left.

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This morning I questioned who I am, but this isn’t new. I’ve been questioning this for awhile. In the past 10 years I have seen many parts of myself.

I have traveled the left path to play in darkness.

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I have traveled the right path toward light. I try to stay on the middle path for balance.

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But no matter which way I go, who I am sits on the bench watching.

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The Soul Reporter

Stiff Like Winter.

A Short Spiritual Memoir: Gradual Growth & Awakening ~

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I feel stiff like winter.

I long to thaw like spring—and

See what transpired in darkness and struggle.

 

My life has felt harsh and ugly for so long, like those last days of winter when the snow is gray and the sky matches, and you have had enough of those bitter winds biting your bones. I don’t want this anymore. I want kind and beautiful. I find it again on a short walk. The day is as my daughter describes it: she will not sweat and and she will not freeze. It is a day of transition from winter to spring—a glimpse of what is to come.

As I walk I ask for more of myself to be revealed. I stop and look through the bare tree to the sun peeking through the gray. The song of birds remind me I am back. I needed to come back—home to Minnesota where I experience these transitions from winter to spring and later, summer to fall.

I know I have been through something awesome and difficult, and feel like everything will be alright now—at least for awhile. The end of an era, and it makes me cry. The tears thaw my stiffness and shed my heaviness, and prepare me for the warmth which is to come.

Thank God for this transition of tears. Sudden joy and elation might startle me otherwise. It is these days of transition: 32 degrees. Sun shining hazily through the gray, which make life of deeper meaning and connection possible and compatible with our ever-evolving soul.

As I end my walk, a woman approaches me and asks, “How’s the path?”

“It’s fine,” I tell her.

 

The Soul Reporter

 

 

I Miss Everything.

Source: thehorrorzine.com via Allana on Pinterest

My cries are deep these days.

*They aren’t the same cries of my adolescence where I’d sit in bed listening to slow music, feeling sorry for myself. No, these cries do not spawn from that space of pity. They come from some place else.

I want more. I have more. I seek relief. I have relief. I ponder destiny. I realize destiny. Nothing makes sense any longer. What I had is no longer good enough. I’m lost. Then found. I cry these deep cries. When I take breaths, I remind myself of a baby who keeps gasping after a painful outburst.

Where is this place I have come? Does anyone know it? Who am I now after losing so much, and feeling as though I’ve gained so little? Where do I begin to let the river flow again? My heart is bleeding out. I miss everything. And, there is that cry again.*

*random words in the moment of one of those deep cries. Don’t even know if it makes sense, but there it is. Maybe someone can relate. Maybe not, but it’s out now. 

The Soul Reporter.

The Deep.

Source: cloggo.tumblr.com via Sara on Pinterest

Everything comes from the deep.
Life is informed from the deep.
We have access to the deep.
A clear channel from deep
Inside—out.

A foundation is laid,
Which we now stand upon.
This foundation continues to move
deeper and expand.

I see small flowers beginning to blossom.
Life will begin to sprout from
The richness of the deep.

What we see outside in our lives
All comes from the deep.

The Soul Reporter

Stand in the Truth of Who You Are

From February 2008. 

It is as if I built a beautiful house brick by brick-

from the foundation to its steeple roof-

and then stood outside of it afraid to go in.

For years I’ve done nothing but Soul Work– and then I walked away (or so it seems)- afraid and embarrassed to stand in my own essence that I worked so hard to uncover.
Instead of standing, I have wandered within the chaos and untruths, wondering what is wrong.
I realize I am standing in the wrong place.
It is time to stand where I belong.
Where do you stand? Where do you belong?

Do You Know Fear?

Today’s Soul Report: Fear

Fear. Perhaps as great a mystery as love. As God.

A man approaches me, and asks me for a ride. Fear. A stray dog in the path I walk. Fear. Too much caffeine. Fear. Out of the blue. Fear. My only remedy: get present.

Notice the white butterfly on the path. In the dead of night when fear grips. Feel the cool sheets under my hand. Get present.

If you can control fear, you either dont know it or are an enlightened master. In my fear the sound of a small lizard in the grass sounds like a mountain lion waiting to prance. A man walking could be a rapist.

Do you know fear?

The water feels like a friend. I walk beside it. As I walk, I open up more fear. As I walk, it releases. As I walk, I open up more spirit. As I walk, it releases.

Whatever is your mystery, Fear, you’re a viable opponent.

***Words, which surfaced and photos I snapped during my walk today.

Nikki

Trying to be Alone

Today’s Soul Report: A Writing/Walking Meditation (written several weeks ago)

I am called forward by the sound of a bird. It is the only sound I want to hear. Soon I hear them all:

traffic noise that I don’t want to hear;

a wind chime;

an old porsche- the driver pushing on the gas to get it to rumble;

a child’s laughter, and the sound of water hitting the car as its being washed by father and son;

a weed whacked.

I see: 

a tiny lizard running deeper into a bush;

groceries being taken out of a car;

two friends talking loud. A young boy paaaes by on his cell phone;

a young mother walking her baby.

There are too many out today. But who am I? No one more special than the next. 

More birds. A place in the shade;

they turned on their front yard fountain. No one home to listen.

All of these beautiful spaces with no one to sit and listen, to the fountain. The birds. 

I feel:

it is hot. Sun exposing me;

I have a great opening line. I’m afraid to go deeper;

I don’t want to see people or have them see me;

like the lizard that runs to the dark everytime a footstep is felt.

I want:

a writing room. The one I see in my imagination. More like a cottage. Moved away from the main house. I walk there with my tea. Smiling. Ready to enter.

I am: 

selfish I’m sure. To want nothing but birds. Wind. Quiet. A cottage to write that only I enter into;

aware I created a life before knowing who I was. This life now makes me feel confined- in moments;

longing for a life that will one day come. But, only after the kids are raised and the money is raised. The career established. Or am I just being dramatic?

wandering the streets to try and find a space that is just mine.

I know the pursuit is selfish. The longing of it makes me unhappy. Soon I will enter my over priced rental. Family of four. No room to write. Only a wall space between the bedroom closet and drawers. My husband will probably be in there sleeping. It’s Saturday. I will feel pressure to join the family.

I hear be grateful being chanted from the positive thinking cult on my left, and on my right I hear some form of my dad and the Buddha tellling me it’s too bad I lost my desire to only be useful- and nothing else.

I find a place. I’ve been here before. It’s on a graffiti filled rock. Above the Rose Bowl. The only space where there’s shade. I see people have been here. But no one is here now.

What’s the rustling in that bush? Probably another lizard.