The pace has been quick, a pace I’ve maintained well enough though it’s quicker and fuller than I’d be able to sustain forever, and thank goodness nothing is forever, thank goodness life moves in waves, thank goodness it ebbs and flows, thank goodness the quick will slow and the fullness will wane, thank goodness thank goodness thank goodness.
I reflect on the quickness and fullness now that space is opening and deadlines have passed, new deadlines not yet set. I breathe the pause. What I mean to say is not that I’m standing somewhere pausing and breathing (though I am), but that I am (actually) breathing the pause, am calling it into my being, am inviting it to fill my inside nooks and crannies. I breathe the pause. I become the pause. I am the pause.
On the new moon, on a day of ebbing, of ultimate wane, I meet a friend. She’s a friend I’ve known for years, emailing back and forth, living in the same state but several hours-drive apart. She and her husband have come to town (two towns over) for a few days’ escape and there’s a pocket of time for us to meet. In the middle of the afternoon, in the garden area behind a restaurant, we cup our hands around warm mugs and talk and talk and talk. The conversation is easy and she’s lovely, not just in physical appearance, with gorgeous, greying curls falling softly on either side of her face and quiet eyes and a kind smile, but lovely in her thoughtful, considered way of being, her gentle and grounded presence. On this new moon day, I breathe connection, I breathe pause, I sip chai.
The next day, the rain falls and the air is chilly. I stand on the porch mid-morning, sweater pulled tightly around me, listening to the rain. I notice its pitter patter on the roof, then become aware of its gentle plunk on the holly leaves to my left, sense the sliding as each raindrop (post-plunk) moves from leaf to earth. Everywhere I turn there is some journey, some transition, some moving from here to there. I’m curious what happens in those in-between places, between here and there, between what was before and what is now (and what is to come), between the plunk and the slide and the descent. Those junctures, those points, those pauses, I want to climb inside and explore. I pull my sweater tighter around me and breathe the rain-soaked air, breathe the pause and will it to seep into the folds of my heart, pump itself throughout my body, fill me with each inhale and empty me with each exhale, guide me in unfolding to the spacious in-betweens, show me how to climb inside, explore.
The goal of life is to make your heartbeat match the beat of the universe,
to match your nature with Nature.
~ Joseph Campbell ~
• Registration is open for November’s online writing circle, The Quiet Page. Details here.
• Registration is also open for the mini holiday edition of Just Five Things. Details here.
(if you were a participant of October’s J5T, wait for an email (coming soon) with your discount!)
• I’m sending out the November Note in a few days. Sign up to receive yours here.
4 thoughts on “climb inside”
I love this, Michelle. I can feel the pause and the peace and the rain and the chill and the coziness of a sweater and a warm mug.
Thanks, Helena. I appreciate what you said, and how poetically you said it. xo
Oops. I already registered for Just 5 things without the discount. Consider it a small token of many, many thanks for being a part of your wonderful writing programs. I took a paragraph from your newsletter and made a blackout poem. I appreciate your gift with words.
Aw, Jennie… you absolutely made my day. Thank you for all your kindness here. xo
And I love that you used one of my paragraphs for a blackout poem! 🖤