the birds were singing on the walk home this morning – they were communicating with hymns and chatter. i don’t know if they were celebrating the sunrise or the slow return of winter – but i walked surrounded by their canopy of song.
the world felt so peaceful this morning. and i, for a moment, did too.
i don’t feel anxious these days. but most definitely unsettled. this in limbo space is keeping me from being grounded. i am not flying, more like preparing to run – muscles tensing, mind preparing..
i have so much to do in the next little while. i keep mentally packing and purging. my mind a 3d replica of this space that i need to dismantle, basket by basket, trinket by trinket.
and i really wanted to try to be a minimalist. thinking about moving lightly in this world with nothing but a few well-chosen belongings appeals to me so deeply.
but i am coming to terms with the fact that i am a sentimentalist. sometimes i hoard, but sometimes i just CHERISH. it is hard to tell the difference – that is why i need a community around me to pry things from my clenching grip but also to give me permission to hold on.
learning when to let go. how to let go. what to let go of.
learning when to hold on. how to hold on. what to hold on to.
maybe these are some of the biggest lessons of age – lessons that repeat over and over. and i just keep cycling. we all do, i guess.
so i can’t get rid of everything, but i’m slowly getting rid of some of it.
in these in-between days, i have noticed that i let go of intention and practices. i don’t feel connected to any rituals that sustain me (which makes me so much more grateful for this practice). but as i was lamenting this (while in the space of someone who is rich in sacred memory and intentional spiritual curation), i realized that again, i need permission.
permission to let go.
it makes sense that this is not a time of routine and reflection. it is a time of motion. of half-packed boxes. of living in 2 spaces and mentally preparing for a 3rd. it is a time of last suppers and seized moments.
i want to transition well. to end this chapter gracefully. graciously.
but oh man, jules. it is coming up fast. and the list keeps getting longer.
but today, there were the birds and the slow walk home. with the sun springing forward in time to rise with this new day.
and tomorrow, there will be more of the same.
so i will try to remember to pause with gratitude. to slow for the sacred moments, as they pop their face through the clouds. as these trees sway in a welcoming reminder, as these birds form a mass choir to show us the way.
my eyes are closing, hope i can pry them awake until Nexus.
i hope the sun and sound of the surf is a balm for the soul.