To not have posted since Wednesday seems like a huge deal for me. Some may not have noticed I've been gone; others may have stopped checking in. Such is the life and death of a blog.
And yet, as with all of us, my life has continued off line. Primarily because of that, I have not been able to make it to the computer.
Today, I silently slip back in. I return with pages of journaling, thoughts, art. I have had plenty to consider while living and reflecting on life, the Supermoon, Japan and how to help, 21 Secrets, and a wonderful class I am in taught by Natasha, Oh The Stories You'll Tell.
We went out last night to experience the splendor that is the moon. I forgot my tripod, but enjoyed being breathless as I tried to steadily photograph what was happening before me. I felt powerfully connected to it, to the water, to the beauty and simplicity that existed in those few moments that we allowed ourselves to just experience life.
Through it all - through this doing - I keep finding this odd sense of existence. It always returns -several times a day now - in a choked way, like trying to start a lawn mower or a car that just died.
It is as if the practice I have been maintaining (even if not regularly) has started to seep into life.
I shared on Facebook that a couple of nights ago, I ran for 25 minutes. I did so at 6 pm (which I've never done), on a Friday night (which I've never done), in my pj pants (again, which I've never done...I'd forgotten my running pants at home). I just brought music, my watch, my body, breath, and awareness.
I ran because I couldn't not run. Because while being exhausted I decided I could either go to bed or run. Briefly soaring out to see my life as a whole, I realized I am not the person who collapses into life. Thus, I must live like the person who does not. Thus, I stood up. I walked over to my shoes. I bundled up. I started the music. And I put one foot in front of the other.
If I would have really thought about it, I would not have gone. I would have found excuses, questions, other things to do. I think that sometimes life requires us to trust the greater instinct that leads us - without question.
Every decision made driven by some force that I have awoken with practice... Realizing that not living as me is not an option. This means different things at different times, but right then it meant that I ran. It is a moment-by-moment practice.
I still struggle with decisions, experience heart-wrenching pain, and suffer. But as Sylvia Boorstein said in a book I am currently adoring, my "suffering is manageable". I find this odd sense of peace in life (odd because I'm not used to it) even when my mind and heart are skittering about in tears and panic.
To continue to experience this all, I know I must slow. I must continue to release those things to which I cling to, believing I need them, in order to allow time to run when I know there is no other option.
My breath continues to carry me through it all. I wish for you the same experience.