(rose in pt. defiance rose garden. october 2006. canon digital rebel.)
It is snowing. I can see the flakes falling outside the kitchen window. And I am filled with an overwhelming longing for home. The idea of home. The idea of a place where I grew up and lived for 28 years. A place where the winters were filled with snow.
Lately, I have been struggling with what to write about here. And I am remembering my way back. The quote, attributed to The Buddha, that sits atop this page every day is one reason why. A private session with my yoga teacher this weekend reminded me as well. I believe that we are here in the place we are in because our soul has a question. We seek the answer.
And even though I am also remembering that it isn't popular and it isn't easy and it isn't something everyone else wants to talk about and people perceive me as a serious person, searching for this answer is part of who I am. This is part of who I am. And I am not going to change to fit the mold of an expectation or to be "liked" by another.
As the snow falls and falls, I sit here knowing the truth. Even though I sometimes run from it, even though I fear it, even though I do not always understand, I am here. I am showing up. I am peeking underneath things and peering around corners and stopping to listen, and trying to find the courage to speak. I am showing up. Though the answer may never be found, and maybe finding it really isn't the true goal, I am showing up to seek, to learn, to crack open, to grow, and to love.
Today, when I started this post, I thought I would just share this photograph and a quote. Because, like I said, I thought I didn't really know where I wanted to go with this blog, what to say knowing my words are read by people who know me, kind of know me, don't know me at all, or think they know me. Taking a break from work and remembering my teacher's mention of Hafiz in our session, I turned to his words. And I turned to a page in the middle of the book, to this poem*:
Lately, I have been struggling with what to write about here. And I am remembering my way back. The quote, attributed to The Buddha, that sits atop this page every day is one reason why. A private session with my yoga teacher this weekend reminded me as well. I believe that we are here in the place we are in because our soul has a question. We seek the answer.
And even though I am also remembering that it isn't popular and it isn't easy and it isn't something everyone else wants to talk about and people perceive me as a serious person, searching for this answer is part of who I am. This is part of who I am. And I am not going to change to fit the mold of an expectation or to be "liked" by another.
As the snow falls and falls, I sit here knowing the truth. Even though I sometimes run from it, even though I fear it, even though I do not always understand, I am here. I am showing up. I am peeking underneath things and peering around corners and stopping to listen, and trying to find the courage to speak. I am showing up. Though the answer may never be found, and maybe finding it really isn't the true goal, I am showing up to seek, to learn, to crack open, to grow, and to love.
Today, when I started this post, I thought I would just share this photograph and a quote. Because, like I said, I thought I didn't really know where I wanted to go with this blog, what to say knowing my words are read by people who know me, kind of know me, don't know me at all, or think they know me. Taking a break from work and remembering my teacher's mention of Hafiz in our session, I turned to his words. And I turned to a page in the middle of the book, to this poem*:
It Felt Love
How
Did the rose
Ever open its heart
And give to this world
All its
Beauty?
It felt the encouragement of light
Against its
Being,
Otherwise,
We all remain
Too
Frightened.
Reading these words, hearing the words of my teacher, and opening my heart to something greater than me, I am remembering my way back. To my journey. To my soul's question. To me. And this place will continue to be where I share some of the pieces of my journey.
(*Translation by Daniel Ladinsky in the book The Gift. Shared with permission.)
(*Translation by Daniel Ladinsky in the book The Gift. Shared with permission.)
