I want you to be everything that’s you, deep at the center of your being.
A challenging journey, difficult at times, to “be everything that’s you, deep at the center of your being.”
Most of us won’t traverse the path to our deep center. Instead, we detour to another track, one we perceive as more doable, safer.
Others may say, “Sounds easy, attainable, this journey to our deep center,” and yet, they will only scratch the surface.
In hindsight, they may even wonder what else there was to see if only they’d excavated longer, more diligently, more thorough.
Some of us may ask a multitude of questions: Did we miss something? Should we have stood longer or sat deeper? Was there another choice, a truer one? Did we really enter the center of our being and be everything we were?
We may never know. Maybe the center we’ve arrived at is nothing more than a glimmer of what is possible.
What if we realize we are avoiding our deep center—not honoring it, holding it, nourishing it, or even believing it exists?
My deep center, the one I know today, reveals some things and holds back on others. When I think I know, I sometimes learn I don’t know. Or more information is given, enough to discern something other than what I thought I knew.
There’s so much to know and so little time to dig it up and use it.
I do know my deep center enjoys spring sun coming through the window, blanketing the wooden floor. I like to step into the warmth, allow my toes to soak in the sun.
I know I need quiet and stillness, where nothing is happening, no one is talking, no one is really doing anything, especially me, just seeing and experiencing.
I know writing calms my breath and steadies my mind, offers me accomplishment in a way that nothing else does, an individual-soul-restorative that another person cannot give me.
I know I love my husband, deeply, truly, and my boys, always.
I know I love cats, their paws, drawn-on mouths, whiskers and green eyes, yellow eyes, whatever, it doesn’t matter. They fascinate me, tether me to the earth, where I feel the touch of the indefinable divine—a divine I can see, breathe in, snuggle with, and touch.
There’s more I know. And more I don’t know—yet. That’s part of the journey, experiencing these bits and pieces of me, honoring them, holding them, nourishing them, believing in them.
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