“Be patient, hand,” he said. “I do this for you.” Hemingway
Let your self be lifted
Riding the crest of the wave, each day, takes us up up up and away back down each night into sleep. And each of these little curves make up a week and blend to the arc that makes up a life time a time in life where you come and you go and you don’t always know why.
The only surety is that you will die – it’s not to be sad, not to be feared, but to be held close and valued in your span of existence here and to know something deep within that carries your breath and makes your heart beat and holds your brain sturdy and allows you to think.
Sort through the thoughts that are not yours, of course, but given through childhood and some other source. Thrown from over ground to the crown of your head. Your brain wants to think they belong only to you, but where do they stem from, are they all true? Most can be felt from the corner of your eye like a sty that seeps and makes things off skew. But the ones that you might want to keep are the ones that rise up from someplace much deeper
still can you feel the quality they give – are they spikey and loud, are they peaceful and sweet? Do they flash in an aggressive blast, do they surge in a panic too fast. Or needy and pleading or boastfully gleaming. All of the noise that they splutter and shout, all of the doubt that they fill up like clouds – watch them disperse and make plenty of room for the ones that really matter, they’ll come up to you
in a pace that is gently and loving and kind, in a space that is clear from a cluttered mind. And how do you get to that place that is dear – watch the little distasteful ones go – you don’t need to follow each one, you know.
There will be times where nothing comes up, but cherish that nothing and keep it pristine and here you allow for what is deepest and true within you to come through – patience stirred in your cup, slip it slowly and watch the magic rise.