Everything I own is temporary
Brilliant ideas, coveted objects
Valued relationships, my very personhood
Nothing protected from an unseen hand
Wiping clean my slate
Upending familiar ground upon which I tread
Tinkering with a fragile sense of self
While I sleep
Walk
Through days chock full of importance
Despite every grand effort to trick
That which I want and need
So very much
to remain true, steadfastly loyal
Cemented into certainty
Everything flickers and grows feeble
Snuffed out like a flame
Abruptly squeezed by meaty fingers
Or barely noticed, fading like dusk
Soundlessly swallowed whole by night
In stillness I stand
On solid ground amidst shifting sands
Sheltered beneath a canopy so green
Glistening with cascading rain
Softly nourishing gardens and lawns
Quiet companion on a leash
Three smiling men riding a single lawn mower
An amusement park of movement and stillness
Revealing the script behind the play
Written in vanishing ink
Life in every form is meant to be lived
Not there
Far in the future dressed in a different garment
Bright, beautiful and pleasing to the i
But here
Looking as it is right now
Not well put together
Yet perfectly arranged
Shifting awareness emboldened
By a dog unburdened by a broken foot
Gracefully releasing the chase of
Every wiry squirrel
Content to sniff the winds of change
Black and white fur dancing
With pink petals, water and breeze
Untroubled by the sun’s game of hiding
Vigilantly at rest, no need to seek
Eyes meet in silent acquiescence
Hands splayed open
Grasping not one thing
I treasure that which cleans my slate
And welcome the dusk that robs my light
I pray then and there to the witness within
Let this softening of my body
Sing a gentle lullaby to my mind’s desire
To know, to strive, to do, to become
So I may instead honor this temporary breeze
And perfection of these trees
Peace be with you and with all. No exceptions.
Creativity is inherent to human development and essential to discovery of the wonder of the world. Anyone who has every witnessed an infant discover her toes or attended a high school art show has done their research. The question for you is not whether you are creative, rather how are you expressing your creativity. By choosing different ways to express yourself and your view of the world, you enhance new neural learning, hone observational skill, and let a wee bit of your genius flow out to the world. The more you create, the more you translate the world according to you for the rest of us to enjoy. Forget about being good at anything. Create as an experiment, for the sheer joy of it, or to enhance wellbeing.
Learn the one essential skill that allows you to face any challenge with confidence, sturdiness, and inner calm.
More than a technique. It’s a game changer.
There are moments in life when something ancient and deeply meaningful finds its way into your life. Two years ago, I was seated in the doorway of the Sun Temple in Ollantaytambo in Peru. I had climbed the ancient steps, communed with the spirit of the mountain, and gazed out over the landscape.
There comes a moment, sometimes quietly, when you realize you don’t want to keep postponing your life. Not in a dramatic way, nor as a declaration, but as a simple, honest recognition that what you are living now matters. You begin to sense an invitation, not to fix yourself or become someone else, but to turn toward your life as it is and meet it more fully.
I enjoy airports. Most likely because they signal that a travel adventure is about to begin. My family followed the “arrive two hours early” rule for every flight, and I’m still a fan. It allows me to relax and enjoy the airport phase of the travel experience. I’m not worried about security lines, overpriced water, or what boarding group I’m in. Although, truth be told, those days of being upgraded to first class have left a subtle longing for wider seats and fewer people.
I remember walking into Westminster Cathedral in London, looking up, and being struck still by the vast beauty and scale of the architecture. People milled around me, some even bumping into me, yet my face remained turned heavenward. I could not move. Eventually I noticed my body returning to its normal sense of size, as if I had taken a journey within that vastness without realizing it.
I’ve always had a distant relationship with horses.
I once rode the pony a friend cared for at a local barn when I was a pre-teen. I’ve done a few trail rides, including what felt like a few death-defying adventures in the Colorado Rockies. I even calmly steered my horse back onto the trail after she reared and raced down a small forest hill. It was a natural instinct. After all, I’ve watched enough television to witness experienced equestrians deftly managing rearing horses.
I have been reading a series of novels set in the late nineteenth century that portray the social structures women were expected to live within. Hardships were often hidden behind social niceties, beautiful homes, fashionable clothing, and the polite manner considered fitting for a lady of society. A woman’s ability to enjoy simple pleasures such as reading freely, choosing her friendships, or expressing her opinions was often restricted by her husband.
