I sit here in front of a blank computer screen and the words lie in silence within me. I can't easily find them. And there is such a rightness to that as we are still in liminal space, a time of stillness. Of going within, of dropping through time.
The Void, the Mystery, the unformedness of it All. To be Still. To allow ourselves that moment where we will be remade by something so much bigger than ourselves. Be that the Mystery of time or the seasons or the consciousness of endings and beginnings, of the year that is still new. All of it ties together in a potency of stillness.
The question arises: to what extent can I allow this invitation? Or am I allowing the busyness of the moment to eclipse the call? I feel the potency and primal call of lying on the earth, hearing the heartbeat of this beautiful moment against my cheek, my skin, the beat of my own heart synchronizing with that cosmic humm that thrums up through my feet. The tears shed are a testament to the exquisite ache and beauty and gift of life as I breathe thank-you into the brittle leaves and wetness of the soil around the fire pit.
Welcoming 2020 into the cauldron of my soul.
Be Still to Feel it All.
Being human. What does it mean? This. This intensity. This ache. This longing. This beauty. This creation and desire and need to express and be and love and long and create and create and create. To be still. Against the heartbeat of the earth.
To be still.