It is only now as I sit down to write that I realize that it has been two months since I last put the proverbial pen to paper. I have simply not had words. I have been sitting in silence. In stillness, in that space which has no form and shape. Waiting. For the next movement to shape itself. Giving it the space and time that it asked for.
In this fast paced world that we live in- and there is much beauty in that as well- there is not that much space to slow down, to do nothing, to be still. To wait. And yet sometimes that is the only thing that is required. When there is nothing wrong. Nothing to be fixed, nothing to be healed or solved, transcended or transmuted. One just needs to wait until the next shape reveals itself. And that is what I have been doing. Sitting in silence. Waiting. Lying in my bed, curled up, simply breathing, simply being.
I'm coming to the end of the waiting now, seeing glimpses of a form, as if a veil still covers it's mystery. Yet there are moments, just tiny moments, when that veil lifts and I'm taken aback by the sheer beauty revealed before the cosmic winds settle again, and the veil slips back into place, asking that my outstretched hand lower again. And wait.
I can see now that there have been three distinct phases within this space. Three different textures and tastes. Different qualities of Being. In the first stillness, all that I have been, my identities, my relationships, the forms and structures that defined 'me' dissolved. It has been painful. Sometimes heartbreakingly so. I then entered liminal space, the old no longer present, the new not part of any dreaming. And then I heard the echo of a song, a rhythm under my feet, so very far away yet its notes reaching out and calling my name. The new is arriving and there are moments that my heart is so full of joy and excitement and I have a dozen different ideas about the next what's/where's/when's of my life before it all disappears and dissipates... not yet it whispers, not quite yet. And so I wait, but the quality of the waiting has shifted to a yearning, a knowing that just after a next exhale, I just might feel my new shape. My new life. It waits for me.
My question for you beautiful: Is there somewhere where you have made yourself wrong when all that is required is for you to be still, to wait, to allow. If so, I invite you to let go... you are perfectly divine just as you are...