Nothing has fueled my efforts to cultivate a daily spiritual practise more than the memory of those times when I could not even remember to reach out to the presence that had held me, times when I was caught in a kind of bleak amnesia of the heart. It’s not that I ever thought that this presence had abandoned me, but there were times during that first marriage in my early twenties, when I just couldn’t find the time or energy to turn my face back towards that steady loving strength. I was distracted by what felt like the sudden and terrifying necessity of deciding what I was going to do with my life and by the escalating violence in my marriage. I do remember on one occasion, as I literally flew through the air and hit the black and white tiles of the kitchen floor, thinking vaguely that there was something I needed to reach out for, something I needed to remember that would change everything. But I couldn’t clear my head- or my heart- to remember what it was. Even the thought that there was anything to remember was gone as fast as it appeared, swallowed by the need to pull away from the darkness of the present moment- as if there is ever any place else to go. ~Oriah Mountain Dreamer from THE DANCE May we practice what we want to come back to over and over. May our practise be something we can do even when we dont feel like it- a coming back to the breath, a silent fragment of a prayer, counting of the inhales & exhales into & from the heart. . . . And. . . then, may we forgive ourselves when we wander away- because thats what human beings do. We forget & remember, wander & then know the joy of homecoming over & over. May we be kind to ourselves- give ourselves a way to come home, a chance to remember even when life is confusing & chaotic. May we develop a small daily practise as a deep act of hospitality to the self.
Posted on: Tue, 13 May 2014 13:00:01 +0000
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