April 11
12 April 2019im sitting here, and the wind is blowing outside. the way that the long stemmed branches and all it’s tiny leaves are rustling have the same sound and rhythm as pebbles rolling around underneath the ease of an ocean wave. I catch myself being overwhelmed with a lot of joy lately. these days im also experiencing a very felt and unfamiliar sense of connection to the breath that comes out of me, for what feels like the first time in a long time- I sometimes forget that this sense of ease is as gentle and subtle as the sun making shadows that stretch across the wall, it’s the slowing down enough to see it that counts. it is never out of reach, but sometimes I lose sight of it. im grateful it comes back with so much grace.
im reading poetry again and buying too many books lately. I catch myself standing on the outside edges of my feet and wonder what it is that makes me want to repel from the ground, I try to be as mindful (like a fucking lunatic would be, im joking) and I lay my feet so all four corners stick. I try to be as grounded as a mountain. a bit secretly that yoga pose is my favorite, did you know my middle name means mountain in finish? the best thing about living in the valley was the day after a storm, the biggest and crunchiest clouds you’ve ever seen up above but stretched out for miles too, and the sky finally clear enough to see the mountains all around. when I do yoga, I am always grateful for a clean and rounded breath.
in a lot of different ways I feel strange about this weird urge to share and share and share and be open, but i also kind of feel like if I become less of a witness to my life and start more intimately interacting with it, I’ll be able to show up as a better person in all facets and relationships I have both with life and with people. and a lot of me writes and to be frank its easier typing things out sometimes, and I don’t like the idea of simmering and I am working on being seen.
all this to say that I want to start writing again and so im giving into the pull a little bit and being vulnerable and maybe me doing this weird shit will help someone else do their weird shit.
im reading poetry again and buying too many books lately. I catch myself standing on the outside edges of my feet and wonder what it is that makes me want to repel from the ground, I try to be as mindful (like a fucking lunatic would be, im joking) and I lay my feet so all four corners stick. I try to be as grounded as a mountain. a bit secretly that yoga pose is my favorite, did you know my middle name means mountain in finish? the best thing about living in the valley was the day after a storm, the biggest and crunchiest clouds you’ve ever seen up above but stretched out for miles too, and the sky finally clear enough to see the mountains all around. when I do yoga, I am always grateful for a clean and rounded breath.
in a lot of different ways I feel strange about this weird urge to share and share and share and be open, but i also kind of feel like if I become less of a witness to my life and start more intimately interacting with it, I’ll be able to show up as a better person in all facets and relationships I have both with life and with people. and a lot of me writes and to be frank its easier typing things out sometimes, and I don’t like the idea of simmering and I am working on being seen.
all this to say that I want to start writing again and so im giving into the pull a little bit and being vulnerable and maybe me doing this weird shit will help someone else do their weird shit.
