Find stillness during the day, everyday.
Find stillness during the day, everyday.
Nothing to see here – not because of the fog, but because looking for city landmarks while in nature defeats the purpose.
Good design is clever and delightful. Great design, though, is powerful, with explanations unnecessary.
Sometimes you have to get lost before you could find your way. If you reframe your thinking and stop believing that being lost is bad, then you’d stop the self-judgments. You’d stop worrying. You’d cease wanting. Then you could enjoy what is. You don’t have to reinvent yourself. Rather, you’d stop being something you’re not. You’d stop trying to be perfect and realize:
“Perfection is achieved, not when there is nothing more to add, but when there is nothing left to take away.”
– Antoine de Saint-Exupery
The gap between inhale and exhale is the space of perfection. It is the space that separates receiving and releasing, where you go from acknowledgement to resolve, from knowing to doing. Inhale, exhale: in between is the seed of thought and the impulse of action. That space is divine. Even though that subtle gap is normally measured in milliseconds, time does not factor in that space. It is timeless. It is perfect and perfectly brimming with contentment, acceptance, compassion, and forgiveness. This rarely thought of thing—this gap that binds the cycles of inhalation and exhalation—is where the essence of being is unfettered, void of judgment and attachment. What if this gap is not an afterthought? What if we cultivate that space? It is available to us in every breath we take, tens of thousands of time a day.
It doesn’t interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart’s longing.
It doesn’t interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dream, for the adventure of being alive.
It doesn’t interest me what planets are squaring your moon. I want to know if you have touched the centre of your own sorrow, if you have been opened by life’s betrayals or have become shrivelled and closed from fear of further pain.
I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own, without moving to hide it, or fade it, or fix it.
I want to know if you can be with joy, mine or your own; if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to be careful, be realistic, remember the limitations of being human.
It doesn’t interest me if the story you are telling me is true. I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself. If you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul. If you can be faithless and therefore trustworthy.
I want to know if you can see Beauty even when it is not pretty every day. And if you can source your own life from its presence.
I want to know if you can live with failure, yours and mine, and still stand at the edge of the lake and shout to the silver of the full moon, ‘Yes.’
It doesn’t interest me to know where you live or how much money you have. I want to know if you can get up after the night of grief and despair, weary and bruised to the bone and do what needs to be done to feed the children.
It doesn’t interest me who you know or how you came to be here. I want to know if you will stand in the centre of the fire with me and not shrink back.
It doesn’t interest me where or what or with whom you have studied. I want to know what sustains you from the inside when all else falls away.
I want to know if you can be alone with yourself and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.
— Oriah Mountain Dreamer
I was at the window
when a fly near the latch
was on its back spinning—
legs furious, going nowhere.
I thought to swat it
but something in its struggle
was too much my own.
It kept spinning and began to tire.
Without moving closer, I exhaled
steadily, my breath a sudden wind
and the fly found its legs,
rubbed its face
and flew away.
I continued to stare at the latch
hoping that someday, the breath
of something incomprehensible
would right me and
enable me to fly.
— Mark Nepo, The Way Under The Way
I am reminded to not be too attached to words and their meanings. People use the same words to describe different things and different words to express the same things. Words have fluidity.