How beautiful,
to discover the stars
one precious night
at a time.
Tag: Mindful living
Categories
The Stories We Tell
The stories we tell ourselves
about what life
is,
does,
means,
will make our hearts
or break our hearts.
The choice,
I suppose,
is ours.
Make, break
or both, sometimes.
If only the answer were simple.
Then again…
what is simple?
Oh, weary soul.
I barely see you behind those tired eyes.
Let us rest, deeply,
beautifully,
with compassion
for all life has given, harshly.
It is a darling life.
A life to be cherished
with each breath of our aching day.
I sleep, now,
knowing morning matters
only when it greets me.
I sleep, now.
I sleep, now.
Categories
The Cookie
We spend a great deal of our lives being afraid of the cookie, don’t we?
Too much sugar, too much fat, too much cookie induced shame (note to self, and the world: shame causes more damage than the cookie.)
If only we’d take a moment to just…love the cookie.
Just love it, and eat it.
It is a beautiful creation, gifted to the world by someone who understood that it was okay to enjoy our humanity while we are here on earth.
I’m no longer afraid of the cookie, and because of this my whole life has changed. The black soot of fear no longer owns every choice I make.
I just love the cookie. I love the cookie, and live my life being aware of any cookie danger, but not afraid.
I eat the cookie slowly.
The beauty of life is in the cherishing of it.
Categories
The Consciousness of Plants
The garden is abundant with Calla Lillies.
There is something about them that I know, something that speaks to me through the softness and sway of their leaves and sweeping, cupped petal.
Theirs is an energy much like the soft breeze of spring that I love so much. It is an energy elegant but dear, and I know that I am that. I know I am that very same softness.
I am not a vegetarian, nor am I a vegan, although I care deeply for animals and respect them just as much as I do the human folk I share a table with. I’ll eat the animals, though, because plants are also alive and must be sacrificed in order for my body to consume them. That consciousness lives within plants does not seem a far out idea for me to accept…because I feel every inch of their life.
Plants, trees, flowers, herbs… I believe they are all very much alive, and as conscious as you or I. Live a day within my skin. I assure you, you would believe, too.
Our limbs grow without us consciously commanding them to. So do those of plants.
We become diseased without consciously intending to, sometimes with death the end result. So do plants.
I eat plants because I have to, just as I eat meat because I have to.
I don’t take either for granted.
Life is beautiful life, down here on this great big spinning rock of ours.
I cherish every curve.
Categories
All My Softness
I am home when the beautiful song of my heart is at peace.
There is nothing loud, here, nothing beyond the birds and the rippling pools of shadow on brick.
I am just me, in all of my softness.
Me, in this beautiful place, home.
I have loved tenderly, here.
I will always love tenderly.
Categories
Heaven On Earth
My soul held the music, and we were one.
There is no other way to describe it but that heaven exists on earth, and for several moments, I was there.
There is a beautiful tender song from Aladdin, where Aladdin sings about being ‘just a poor boy,’ unwanted and unloved.
When I was a child, this scene broke me in two.
It still does because it speaks to a place deep within.
A place that’s says:
Oh, my goodness, I see you.
Now, as I listen to the song there is a new sort of beauty to its lyrical tenderness.
I feel the music, it tells the story as deeply as the words.
It is as if the music itself is conscious.
It is as if the music itself cares.
The way it swells with empathy. The way it rises and falls and twists with aching.
It is heaven on earth.
And I am here, with beautiful music.
And the beautiful love it sings to me.
Categories
The Orchard
As I sit quietly, alone,
with the birds as my friends,
I watch the orchard
sway with the breeze
and I ask myself:
Is it the orchard, alone, I see?
Or has the orchard become
the miraculous creation
of the wind?
And when there is sun
such as this,
and when there is beautiful drift
and swaying trees,
I see life as it is
and I know it is good.
For, the mind, I know
tells stories.
And yet
perfect truth
is this touch of fresh air.
Just another season.
Another precious season
of darling life.
As if
to fall asleep in the arms of another
could be anything less than a gift
to be cherished.
Life and her beautiful pages;
how precious she is,
indeed,
for the sweetness of it.
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