The grass is greening . . . at last. My neglected mini-garden is growing anyway, tulips and allium and hens and chicks unfurling as if from nowhere, glowing green and new even as my heart still feels tired and worn.
Rhythm month is reminding me, gently, to trust that our natural life-rhythms flow most smoothly when we allow, allow, allow. Resistance (to circumstance; to change; to expectations-not-met) makes me stumble instead of dance.
But allowing it all . . . the leftover ache of grief; the shuffle-step of "the new normal" emerging; the heft and sluggishness of a body not treated with tender care and fresh nourishment . . . allowing instead of resisting invites me to embrace the whole story with acceptance. With the same love I would so readily offer someone else, but sometimes struggle to muster up in the mirror.
Hearts wide open.
Allowing our bloom.
Trusting our rhythm.
I am sinking into spring with gratitude, with big glasses of lemon water, with bites of freshness. One day at a time, un-doing over six months of not-taking-care. I will waste no more energy berating myself, asking why I return to old habits even when I know their comfort is fleeting. No, instead I will lift my face to the light, lean into this moment, and whisper thank you for another chance. Another choice.
From my Instagram:
When evening light feels like benediction, my soft footfalls a prayer.
May we feel peace. May we feel loved. May we feel known.
We are not alone.
This idea has become more important than ever around here . . . an underpinning of motivation behind The Phoenix Soul. Authentic connection. Kinship. Validation. Comfort.
Have you read my Academy of Miracles interview yet? Wow, Elloa's questions cracked me open and called forth the truest parts of me . . . including the past year's struggle and eventual phoenix rebirth. These might be my most vulnerable responses yet--so much so that I hesitated before sending my completed interview back. Did I reveal too much? Is this too raw, too hard to read?
Perhaps, for some. But this I know for sure: fellow phoenix souls . . . we who ache and heal, who find hope in knowing we are not alone . . . we need this kind of brave sharing. We need vulnerable truth.
This is how we are reborn. This is how we are phoenix. This is how we know we're not alone.
When we ache, we ache together . . . and when we rejoice? Oh, kindred, we raise our voices in a chorus of holy yes.
with love & immense gratitude,