Learn to grasp the transient nature of things.
You can never completely recreate the past, no matter how hard you try to push soul back into things that have already died.
Let them die.
Anchor yourself into what is being birthed for you
now.
Each joy in its intensity, each moment is here just for that.
I always tried to look for a deeper reason in my most profound moments: a pleasure so palpable, an exchange of words with a stranger surreal, bliss so embodied, even a sadness so visceral. I always thought there must be a meaning to this, an unfolding that supersedes this. That something must sprout from these happenings into a miraculous thing of great proportions.
Yet I was shown over and over in a myriad of ways, often painful, that most things happen for no magnificent reason. They just do. Those moments simply happen; they begin and end in precise timing.
So
lean in to each and every moment with fullness of presence.
Taste it: allow your tongue to relish the tastes of loving or grieving. The sweet dissolving of having found love; the saltiness of grief.
Feel it. The textures of joy, softness under your fingertips, a tingling sensation lifting the hairs on your arm, the weight of new lips on the back of your neck singing a beginning into your skin.
Smell the spring sighing with relief, the branches rupturing with life, flowering with fertility.
Listen to the world loving you, always. Listen to the story flowering within you. Open each ear, soft earlobes, into hearing silence.
And your eyes, let them utter their longing, lift your gaze from the ground. Head up, see: your eyes can change a whole world. Look around, often.
Live each moment like this. No attachments to a deeper reason as to why you are experiencing it.
We are here just to Be.
I stopped seeking the big happenings. I find no delight in crowded celebrations of a frivolous happiness.
Instead I ground myself each day into what is here for me now. A new love budding like those tiny seeds on the branches. Slow mornings, wakeful with the holding of the warm body of another. Bitterness of black coffee under a lazy sun.
Miracles are often concealed in the most seemingly insignificant things.
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