My home is filled with young-adult offspring visiting for the first time in a long while. It is early morning, everyone is asleep but me. I have my tea and meditate begrudgingly. Resistance reigns constantly day in and day out these days. It’s been a “dark night of the soul” time for me; not sure where I belong in the world, vague on the purpose of this life.A transition is here. I feel lost and ungraceful navigating the waters when I am trying not to completely avoid the discomfort of it. The meditation brings me some material; something about intimacy in my relationship to myself. My life is my own. This being and body I inhabit the only thing that I will ever truly be able to count on as being there for me through this life’s continuum. My chronic eight year mind-meanderings of where I should go, where/how should I live is somehow answered, “what does it matter? You are at Home in yourself (right this minute, anyway). You just need to have a space, an empty room to welcome You.”
I putter around the still house on this warm summer morning and find myself sitting on the edge of an overstuffed chair in the living room. My eyes close and open periodically as my arms lift and slide across each other and my face in this sublime, tender way. The soft belly of my forearm turns inward slowly with a pulsing attention. Love and care and intimacy are invoked into the torso’s trunk, the planted pelvis and legs. Everything takes it’s own time. Something is hugely respectful in me of me. My cool inhale-breath matches the air lightly playing in my armpits as these forever arms and wrists and hands do their thing. It’s a short but very complete little session.
Your description of moments of just being with awareness inspires me to cherish such treasures.
Tuesday, August 3, 2010 12:51:00 PM EDT