Your hand opens and closes and opens and closes.
If it were always a fist or always stretched open,
you’d be paralyzed.
Your deepest presence is in every small contracting
the two as beautifully balanced and coordinated
as bird wings.
The last few weeks have invited me into the dance of loss and expansion. I have been offered positions personal and professional that have allowed me to examine my needs and truths, and, in seeing a misalignment, chosen otherwise. This has generated loss, the letting go of particular outcomes. In their wake, I have found new freedoms, pathways, and a generative pulse of energy that has risen from advocating for my greater, longer term desires.
This is a new practice for me. The desire to have bits and pieces, elements and particles, of what I so deeply crave has in the past led me to grasping at snippets of things, hanging on by threads and tendrils. Precarious dances. What I lacked was faith in the act of opening and closing, the pulse of faith that is buoyed by a greater grace. The notion that my greatest desires in life ARE heard and SUPPORTED by a power much greater than myself if I but let go of my tidy clenched fists and allow the world’s timing to unfold.
Faith in the waxing and waning. The breaths in and out. The sleep and the waking. The boredom and the excitement. The noon and midnight. Now and then.
Every day is an act of faith, a risk, a dare. Every breath out dares the next breath in, trust it. Every time I clench my hands, I open them again. And so it goes.