Books Read in May 2020.

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“An Absolutely Remarkable Thing” a novel by Hank Green

Look, I am aware that you’re here for an epic tale of intrigue and mystery and adventure and near death and actual death but in order to get to that (unless you want to skip to chapter 13—I’m not your boss), you’re going to have to deal with the fact that I, April May, in addition to being one of the most important things that has ever happened to the human race, am also a woman in her twenties who has made some mistakes.

This is one of the most unique stories I have ever read. It starts with giant sculptures popping up in cities across the globe. Enter April May and social media turning her into a celebrity and this odd occurrence into a movement.

I was intrigued by how the story seems to mirror what is happening in our country today, dividing into sides, social media being used as a tool to sow that division. 

A sentence I underlined:

In the end, my brand was me, so whatever I said became something I believed.

“Atomic Habits” by James Clear

On the final day of my sophomore year of high school, I was hit in the face with a baseball bat.

All of my habits, good and bad, useful and not useful have been amplified during this stay home, stay safe order. So, I am looking for motivation. Looking for inspiration. And I came across this on on my bookshelves.

Clear lays out exactly how our brain is trained and how habits are formed. Then gives us step by step actions to take in order to break old habits and create new ones.

A sentence I underlined:

We all deal with setbacks but in the long run, the quality of lives often depends on the quality of our habits. 

“Today will Be Different” a novel by Maria Semple

Because the other way wasn’t working. The waking up just to get the day over with until it was time for bed.

Well, stumbling across this book among my many hundred to-be-read books now seems serendipitous. As I embark on the 77th day of staying home, staying safe, I yearn for today to be different. I yearn for me to be different. To not succumb to the lure of social media, the news, or Netflix. 

Eleanor Flood yearns for today to be different as well. So, we follow her on one particular day, where despite her best intentions to greet it differently, she finds herself sinking into the same patterns and reactions.

Today she has her son who has decided to play sick to get out of school. Today she discovers something extremely unsettling about her husband that sets her on a quest for the truth. And today she encounters people in her life out of their normal context.

Eleanor is quirky and the plot twists and turns as we follow her throughout this day, hoping that it all will, indeed, be different. 

A sentence I underlined: 

My lungs were butterfly wings.

 “Keep Going-10 Ways to Stay Creative In Good Times and Bad” by Austin Kleon

Whether you’re burned out, starting out, starting over, or wildly successful, the question is always the same: How to keep going?

Another book that seems written for these times. I read it when it first came out and felt compelled to read it again as I struggle to find my creative footing during these times. 

My focus is a little limited lately so I appreciate how short and digestible each chapter is. And how each chapter is filled with inspiration and motivation. He really does help us find ways to keep going no matter what is going on in our lives or the world. 

A sentence I underlined:

The only thing we can really control is what we spend our days on.

“Minding the Muse- A handbook for Painters, Composers, Writers, and Other Creators” by Priscilla Long

Learning to work is about learning to sink into the work.

I’ve been having a hard time sinking into the work so I picked this up off of my TBR shelves. Each chapter is concise, has a perfect quote to start it and ends with questions to contemplate. It works for whatever creative practice calls to you. It is more about the energy we bring to our work. She offers so many isights into the creative process and makes it all seem not only accessible, but also essential. 

A sentence I underlined: 

Here’s where our habit of discipline is our ally—the discipline to put aside anxiety, to sink into the work, to keep the problem open, to have faith in the process of making art.

“Deep Listening- A Healing Practice to Calm your Body, Clear your Mind, and Open your Heart.” by Jillian Pransky with Jessica Wolf

Deep listening is the process of truly connecting to ourselves and our lives. It is not so much a specific technique as it is an approach to how we receive and respond to ourselves and others.

Another book that feels essential to this time. It is a sequence of practices designed to help us listen deeply to our bodies, our selves and the world around us. It is filled with meditations and yoga poses and journal prompts to help us practice deep listening instead of merely reading about it. 

A sentence I underlined:

Well-being is the ability to stay grounded, relaxed and open to whatever your circumstances are.

Writing as Prayer.

(This is inspired by the Mindful Writing Challenge with Nadia Colburn. The prompt comes from a poem by Mary Oliver. It also came out of a prompt from Poses, Pens + Inner Peace.)

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Writing is prayer. It is my prayer.

My way of paying attention. Paying attention to the stack of books and notebooks teetering next to me in the living while the dog sleeps on the couch, her lip caught in her tiny teeth. Paying attention to the the empty mason jar with just a residue of sweet creamy chai lingering at the bottom. To the sliding glass door that is open to the deck, in letting fresh air, the song of birds and the whine of highway traffic drift in through the mesh screen.

Paying attention is a kind of prayer. I’ve became acutely aware of what I am paying attention to during this time. Some days I only pay attention to the losses: lives, health, jobs, health insurance, events, security.

I pay attention to the grief. To the despair. And that’s okay. They need tending, too.

To pay attention is to tend with my energy. To tend is to pray.

Writing is my prayer. It is sacred. It connects my body, mind and heart. It connects me to wisdom. To something that is greater than myself.

Writing is how I pay attention and prayer is paying attention.

To this moment.

This breath.

To this feeling.

This thought.

Writing is my prayer. My path inward and my path out. Out of confusion, out of my own tiny life and into the larger life that surrounds me.

Writing is a way in. To the center. To the stillness. To the white hot chaos of being human, especially during this time of such upheaval and uncertainty.

Writing is my prayer. Not a child’s prayer of asking for things like a Christmas list, but a way of honoring my life. My body. My time. The people in my life. Life itself. Honoring the fact of my existence.

Each word is a statement of here I am .

I am here.

I exist.

I am.

I.

Am.

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The Good News Is.

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(Inspired by the  27 Wildest Days writing challenge by Laurie Wagner. The prompt comes from this poem.)

The good news is that you’re alive and you are loved, even in the moments when you feel unlovable. Especially in those moments.

The good news is that you have this body that walked around the lake today with your dog, looking at up at the vast blue sky arching above you like a cathedral.

The good news is that the windows are open and there’s a breeze of fresh air moving all the stagnant energy out of the house.

The good news is that you know how to care for yourself. You slept until ten o’clock this morning for no discernible reason and took it as sign to nurture yourself so you don’t let this crisis throw you into depression. Fresh air. Writing. Yoga. Meditation. Hot tub. Reading. Fresh, healthy food. Lots of water.

The good news is that you how to take care of you.

The good news is that even though this 27 Wildest Days challenge is over, you know how to move forward. You’ve been writing this way for years. Now, you have this structure to help you. Seek out poems that resonate, the vibrate and shimmer, that stir something deep inside of you. Collect poems and fragments of poems to continue using as prompts and just write.

Write for no reason and for all the reasons.

Writ for nobody and for everybody.

Write for you.

For your mind, your heart, your soul, your whole being.

Th good news is that filling these pages, these notebooks with the “breathings of your heart” is your medicine. Many people don’t know what their medicine is. You do. Be grateful. Use it.

The good news is that this practice has given you a structure. It is the skeleton on which to hang your days of sheltering-in-place. It’s a tool that allows you to be present to anything. To nothing. To embrace it all and to release it all..

This practice is a journey. You don’t write for an endpoint. The writing itself is the point. Showing up to the page is the point.

The good news is that you got this. You can do hard things. You can be comfortable being uncomfortable. You can learn to sit with uncertainty. You can lean into loneliness or boredom or anxiety or whatever it is that comes to the door of your life each day.

Do as Rumi says and welcome them all.

The good news is that you have created space for all the guests that arrive. You have set a place at the table for reach an every one, welcoming them in, listening intently to what they have to say, what they have go teach, what they have to offer, what they need from you, why they have showed up.

It’s really quite beautiful what you have done.

The good news is that as this pen runs out of its green ink, another pen is waiting for you. After this notebook is filled, there is another one waiting to be picked up by you. Waiting to be filled with your words, your heart, your fear, your joy and all the guests you welcome into your life, that you welcome onto the page.

The good news is that you are here, still finding beauty in this broken world. Still finding hope. Still showing up.

The good news is that there is still good news.

 

Evidence of a Life.

(Inspired by the  27 Wildest Days writing challenge by Laurie Wagner, which is inspired by this poem from William Safford.)

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What can anyone give you greater than now?

The tick tick tick of the clock above the fireplace. The clock I bought at the art fair in Ann Arbor that is more than a clock, it is a piece of art, a piece of the artist who created it. And now I wonder when the next art fair will be. When will we again have that time and space for artists and artisans to gather and offer their heart and vision to us.

What can anyone give you greater than now?

One dog curled up in the corner of the couch. Her head resting on paws, body curled into a comma.

What can anyone give you greater than now?

The sound and feel of the pen gliding its scratchy dance across the page. Sinking deeply into this moment. This moment where time slows down, or is it me? Have I slowed down? My pace. My breath. My mind. My movements. I have slowed down and am finally beginning to learn to dance effortlessly with the moment, the one right in front of me, around me, within me.

What can anyone give you greater than now?

The now of the distant traffic whining down the highway. The now of birds beginning to struggle free of winter. The now of the smell of coffee which I love but do not enjoy the taste of or the way it speeds up my brain. The now of a soft jaw after a night of clenching it through vivid dreams that fall away with the sun as my whole being attempts to process what is happening. The now of the mason jar with only a half inch left of cool, creamy soy chai that I made at home because home is where I am allowed to be.

What can anyone give you greater than now?

With each word, each breath, each noticing, I slide deeper into the now. This now. And this one. And now this one. It’s a gentle yet stark reminder that now is all we truly have so why not inhabit it completely?

The now of the dusty blue blanket thrown across my legs. The weight of the lap desk against my thighs.

The now of warmth flushing through my body, starting at my crown, sliding down into my face and neck, chest, arms and belly. I push up the sleeves of my sweatshirt stained with odd pink-ish patches where the disinfectant I use daily splattered onto me. Remembering to clean everything we touch: door knobs, cabinets, light switches, phones, TV remotes.

What can anyone give you greater than now?

The answer? Nothing. Sometimes the now is filled with emptiness. Boredom. Anger. Anxiety. The now feels heavy. Claustrophobic.

Other times the now feels light and spacious, filled with joy, gratitude, acceptance.

But usually the now feels ordinary. It lies deeply in the middle of those two extremes. And that is why it often gets overlooked. I mean, who cares about the sound of the pen against the paper or the near empty chai next to me?

I do.

When I remember to be here now, I care deeply.

It’s where I find beauty in the ordinary. And deep gratitude.

It’s where I discover evidence of a life, my life, in the ordinary details of a day.

Starting here, what do you want to remember?
How sunlight creeps along a shining floor?
What scent of old wood hovers, what softened
sound from outside fills the air?

Will you ever bring a better gift for the world
than the breathing respect that you carry
wherever you go right now? Are you waiting
for time to show you some better thoughts?

When you turn around, starting here, lift this
new glimpse that you found; carry into evening
all that you want from this day. This interval you spent
reading or hearing this, keep it for life –

What can anyone give you greater than now,
starting here, right in this room, when you turn around?

By: William Stafford

 

What a Prayer Can Be.

(Inspired by the  27 Wildest Days writing challenge by Laurie Wagner, which is inspired by this poem from Brad Modlin.)

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Peeling potatoes can be a form of prayer. The slices of brown or rose or yellow skin shaved into a bowl nestled in the sink, revealing a white bulb of flesh that fits into the palm of a hand.

Washing dishes can be a form of prayer. Bowls clanking, scraping remnants into the trash, putting forks tines down in the basket, setting the cups in a neat row up top, lining the plates up on the bottom as if standing at attention.

If I sewed, I imagine it would be a form of prayer. Stitching together what has been torn, creating garments to clothe this body of flesh.

Walking can be a form of prayer. I remember when my back went out and it hurt to walk down the stairs in our home. I remember when my best friend had open heart surgery a year ago and how she could barely walk to our neighbor’s mailbox when she came to our home to recover. Walking is such a simple act that moves us from place to place, activity to activity.  I remember walking the streets of Lisbon, Rome, Naples, Mykonos, and Amsterdam with my daughters last year. Walking was one of our main modes of transportation. It was our way of exploring, seeing and connecting with the world which is a form of prayer.

Writing is a form of prayer, for me anyway. I come to the page everyday with the intention of connecting, of diving deeper in to my life, into the moment. it is one of my practices along with yoga and meditation. Anything I practice regularly with intention is a form of prayer. These words spilling onto the page in purple ink, not knowing what comes next but trusting the process is a form of prayer.

Trust is a form of prayer. I am learning that now more than ever. Trust without knowing. Trust without certainty. Trust without guarantees.

Soaking in our hot tub can be a form of prayer. I never bring my phone with me. If I’m alone I just sink into the water, sink into my body, arms floating, letting the water cradle me, being acutely aware of the silky warmth enveloping me, the jets pulsing against my low back or kidneys or that tender spot on the side of the left foot. If I am with family or friends, I am present. We sit it silence or we talk and it feels like communion.

For a girl who wasn’t raised in any religion, I find prayer everywhere. Prayer isn’t asking for things like I believed as a child. Imagining God as Santa only living in Heaven instead of the North Pole.

Prayer is listening.

Prayer is paying exquisite attention to every detail of life from peeling potatoes to resting in a hot tub to writing these words.

Anything can be a form of prayer.

Everything can be.

If only we let it.

The Dance of Allowing.

(This is inspired by the  27 Wildest Days writing challenge by Laurie Wagner. )

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Things to do in the belly of social-distancing: Clean. Dust. Mop. Organize. Wash. Dry. Fold. Create space. Create order.

Create lists.

Lists of what to buy at the grocery store. Of things to do once the order is lifted. People you want to see. Places you want to go. Events you want to attend.

Create a list of what you miss: people, events, routines, jobs, money.

Mourn the losses even the ones that seem small or insignificant in the scheme of things.

Things to do in the belly of monotony: write.

Write everyday because it is what you do. You’ve been doing it for over 4 years, though you’ve been writing for decades. Writing everyday is the way you show up to yourself and you need that structure now, more than ever.

Things to do in the belly of uncertainty: breathe.

Breathe when the anxiety begins to tighten your throat. When it feels it may choke you. When it gets too large to be contained. Breathe.

Move. Move your body. Get on your mat. Get outside. Move your breath. Move your energy. Get out of your head where anxiety lives and thrives.

Things to do in the belly of these dark times: hope.

Cultivate hope. Notice signs of spring, of change. The pink blossoms spilling from the bush outside the window by your desk as you write these words. The emerald green of grass. The dandelions peppering the lawn. The musicality of birds returning home.

Things to do in the belly of these challenging times: return home.

To your home. Your body. Your heart.

Return to this moment. Let this moment be home. If your to-do list and planner are currently empty, revel in the white space and let yourself just be instead of always doing.

Come home to yourself. What are you curious about? What can you explore? Play with? Dream about”

Things to do in the belly of loneliness: reach out.

Text. Email. Call. Zoom. FaceTime. Connect.

Breathe. Come back to your breath. Always.

Connect with the loneliness. Ask it questions. Be curious about it.

Does it feel familiar? What does it need? Why did it show up?

Write a letter to loneliness. Write a letter from loneliness to you.

Things to do in the belly of disruption: allow.

Acknowledge and allow all that has been disrupted: careers, jobs, retirements, bank accounts. Routines. Celebrations. Milestones. Health. Life. Death. Mourning.

In the face of disruption what do you choose to do?

I choose to feel angry, sad, disappointed, relieved, grateful, anxious. Whatever comes up, I give it space.

That is what I am learning to do in the midst of all of this: allow.

Lots and lots of allowing.

Allowing rest and activity.

Allowing making plans and making no plans.

Having goals and no goals.

Sleeping in and waking early.

Going to bed early and going to bed late.

Eating fruits and veggies and eating chocolate cake for breakfast.

Allowing space to do, to be, to dream.

Allowing myself to meet myself where I am at any given moment, over and over again, as often as needed for as long as needed.

Surrendering to the beautiful and awkward dance of allowing.

Prompt inspired by this poem

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Do What Water Does.

(This is inspired by the  27 Wildest Days writing challenge by Laurie Wagner.  )

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Image found via Pinterest.

Do what water does. Find your way back to your true source. Meander, flow, gyrate, ripple, flood, turn to stagnant muck, rush over jagged rocks, carve those stones into a pathway, your pathway back to source.

Do what water does and flow. Just flow where the current takes you. Where the moment takes you.

Flow toward the unknown, trusting in the journey itself.

Flow beneath the surface of ice and snow. Beneath the harsh heat and sunlight.

Do what water does and change forms as needed: water, ice, steam. Be who and what you need to be whenever you need to.

Do what water does. Be an oasis. Cool, calm, inviting. A refuge within a world in peril.

Do what water does. Seek you source. Seek where you began. Seek all those spaces where you were born again. Seek to remember what you forgot as you journeyed from puddles to ponds, swaps to seas, raindrops to rivers.

Take your time and return to that remembering.

Remembering why you are here.

To awaken. To heal. To love.

Remember what you are doing.

Awakening. Healing. Loving.

Remember that you are all and all is you.

Remember what has been forgotten.

Do what water does and allow yourself to be churned so that what is unnecessary settles to the bottom.

Do what water does.

Flow.

Be still.

Be choppy.

Be churning.

Be calm.

Do what water does. Be still on the surface while beneath the surface is a whole world teeming with life and dreams.

Do what water does. It is what it is.

Be who you are.

Be strong. Be weak.

Be brave. Be afraid.

Be happy. Be sad.

Be distracted. Be here.

Be lost. Be found.

Just be.

What is Essential.

This came out of a prompt I offered in my Poses, Pens + Inner Peace class this past Thursday night: This is what is essential.

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This is what is essential. This space to connect on the page, connect with each other. To excavate our voices and share them in our circle. Lifting our voices up so they can reverberate out into the world.

Excavating those truths that have been buried deep beneath all the shoulds and expectations, letting them see the light of day and sharing these truths, claiming them and in doing so, we claim ourselves.

This is what is essential. Claiming ourselves. Out truth. Our voice. Our power

The world needs that now more than ever. How can we share what we don’t  see? It is essential to see all the pieces of ourselves we have shoved into the shadows. The pieces that we were were told were too much. The thing is, the truth is that the world needs our “too-muchness.”

It doesn’t need our endless apologies.

It doesn’t need our whispers.

It doesn’t need our masks.

Or our lies. The ones we tell each other and the ones we tell ourselves.

The world needs us to stand up.

To speak the truth. Your truth. My truth. Our truth. Loud and clear.

It needs us to stand in our power.

It is essential for the healing and transformation of the world that we all do this.

Now, more than ever.

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Books Read in April.

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“Cozy- The Art of Arranging Yourself in the World” by Isabel Gillies

It makes sense that I was drawn to this book in the middle of a pandemic and being forced to stay at home. I am all about coziness. Cozy clothes. Cozy spaces to read in front of my cozy fire with a cozy cup of tea. 

Gillies takes us through a journey of coziness as we live our daily lives. We journey from ourselves to our homes to nature and technology to traveling to facing difficult challenges. 

In the end, coziness comes from a deep sense of self.

A passage I love:

Cozy is an attitude, not a thing—a shortcut to bringing the most essential parts of ourselves with us wherever we go. Once you put your finger on what makes you feel solid, supported, and calm, you can arrange yourself in a world that can be cold, awkward, dangerous, inauthentic, and unpredictable. 

“Station Eleven” a novel by Emily St. John Mandel

The king stood in a pool of blue light, unmoored.

I’ve had this book in my to-be-read stacks for a while. I am obsessed with dystopian literature. Not sure that choosing to read this particular novel about a flu pandemic that devastates the world population was the best choice but once I started it, I couldn’t put it down.

It is so beautifully written and the structure that moves back and forth in time was perfect. We see life before, during and after the pandemic, and some of the scenes felt way too close to what we are currently experiencing. The story itself is mesmerizing and the writing, lyrical. I even teared up at the ending. 

The sentence that made me teary:

If there are again towns with streetlights, if there are symphonies and newspapers, then what else might this awakening world contain?

“Know My Name” a memoir by Chanel Miller

The fact that I spelled subpoena, subpoenas, may suggest I am not qualified to tell this story.

To be honest, this book wasn’t really on my radar. I thought it would be heart-breaking, enraging and I wondered what the quality of the writing would be.

Well, it was heart-breaking. It was enraging. And the writing was phenomenal. 

This post from Glennon Doyle made me run out and buy it.:

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Everything she says it spot on.

I admit, that I will often skim passages in books. But with this one I felt compelled, even obligated to read every word. To honor her with my devoted attention. To honor her story. To honor every word she put onto the page. 

Every single person should read this.

Reading it now, in the midst of this crisis was interesting. While it is not the same AT ALL, her resilience was inspiring. Her story hopeful.

Chanel and her story and her writing are all lights in the darkness.

This sentence felt like a punch in the gut:

The judge had given Brock something that would never be extended to me: empathy. My pain was never more valuable that his potential. 

“Big Magic-Creative Living Beyond Fear” by Elizabeth Gilbert

Q: What is creativity”

A: The relationship between a human being and the mysteries of inspiration.

So, even though I have 593 books in my home that I haven’t yet read, (Yes, I counted them this week cuz quarantine.) I picked up this gem to read for at least the third or fourth time.

I was listening to Liz give a TedTalk about the current pandemic and the challenges presented by sheltering -in-place and I found so much solace in her words. So I decided to find even more solace in this book again. Her vision of creativity and inspiration is both pragmatic and filled with magic which I love. I picked it up  because I’ve been feeling anything but creative and inspired these days. 

I found myself nodding at the many sentences and passages I had underlined previously and underling new ones that speak to me now.

It was so worth the re-read. I felt thoroughly restored and rejuvenated after closing the pages. 

A new line I underlined:

Work with all your heart, because—I promise—if you show up for your work day after day, you just might get lucky enough some random morning to burst right into bloom.

And this:

We are all just beginners here, and we shall all die beginners.

“This Is Not Your City” stories by Caitlin Horrocks

It is July and we are a miraculous age.

I heard about this amazing writer several years ago at a writing retreat when the instructor praised her as the most talented student he’d ever had. So, I immediately bought her book. Sadly, it got lost in my many many many piles of TBR books.

I recently read her current novel and was blown away by the story and her writing and I remembered having her story collection. So, I searched my shelves and found it. 

It did not disappoint. As a reader, I was hooked by every story which is unusual for me. There is often at least one story that I skim. Not so in this case. 

As a writer, this collection felt like a masterclass in writing short stories. But not the kind that seem like they are workshopped and born out strictly of an MFA program. They are born out her experience and imagination, each story a world rich with detail and complex characters.

Reading this book has me itching to return writing short stories again.

A passage I love:

Then I realized that the pain doesn’t travel so much anymore as live there. It’s settled on in, it’s farming her bones, and it doesn’t need to travel because it’s never going anywhere. 

“You Are a Badass Everyday” by Jen Sincero

It always surprises me when people say, “I’m not a creative person.”

I was looking for something easy to read. Easily digestible. My focus can be shaky these days. As I perused my shelves I landed on this one. Since I’d read her other two books I opened it up. Yep, this would do. The chapters were short and sweet. As I read, I could see it was a reminder of some of the more important lessons in her other two books. It was just what I needed. A reminder to stay present, to be myself, to stay motivated and overcome challenges but to also lighten up and find joy. 

This was a good reminder:

Motivation, commitment, focus—these are a muscles that, like any muscle, required strengthening. 

A Fable of Fear + Trust.

(Inspired from prompt by Amber Rae.)

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Image found via Pinterest.

She was suddenly thrust into the Territory of the Unknown + Uncertain. It felt both strange and oddly familiar. Had she been here before?

Yes. Yes, she had. Long ago. Before she was She. Before she arrived in this Life, she had inhabited the Unknown. What she found there, what guided her into this Life was Trust.

Trust the Unknown.

Trust in the larger plan.

Trust in the Universe.

Trust in herself.

Now that she finds herself here again, she struggles to see and claim that trust. A dragon must be acknowledged first: Fear. Not slayed. She knows that if she tries to slay Fear or ignore it, it will only take up more space. Fear just needs to be seen. To be felt.

Fear keeps her from seeing anything else. It keeps her from remembering that there is so much more beyond Fear because it is so close, it takes up all the space around and within her.

She wanders in restless circles, searching, seeking, desperate to feel stable, secure and safe. The Fear follows her, leaving no space to rest. No space to breathe.

Breathe.

Breath.

Then she remembers.

Fear dissipates with breath. Breath is the one thing Fear can not stand up to.

So, she stops her pacing, stops looking for all the tunnels and holes to escape into. She pauses, stands still and breathes deep.

Immediately, there is a shift deep inside. A settling. A softening.

She breathes again.

And again.

When she opens her eyes, Fear is still there but so much smaller. Tamed for now, it sits crouched next to her like a beloved pet. She can see all around her again. The world is so much bigger and smaller than she remembers. She sees the horizon line.

She sees a light on that horizon.

Ah, there it is.

Trust.

She reaches down and pats Fear.

Let’s go, she says.

And they set out together, side by side, through the Unknown and Uncertain, toward the light of Trust, a beacon calling them home.