If only I spent the hours thinking...doing. So many times I think of this space, my blog space, and the lack of writing I am giving this space.
It nags at me like a homework assignment unfinished.
I even made up a story: that it has been over six months since my last post.
It's actually been just over 2 months.
The stories I tell myself!
I want to tell myself new stories.
That writing is a joyful place for me. And I'm good at it.
And people listen to what I have to say. And if I find myself just here for a few minutes every day, the writing and the joy will follow.
It isn't the writing I escape, it's the practice: the discipline of doing: saying I will do something and then doing it. I make big declarations: even in the sentence above: "few minutes every day" and then I fall short. My intention is there: it's the follow through where I stumble.
My intention is always there: wanting to be, do, help, create it all; all the time: pleasing, achieving. But the real opportunity is to be in the next breath, too: present, helping, being after the bold offer of help and ideas.
My practice is to stick the landing: stay present and calm enough for the next moment and the one after that. To love and jump to the "shiny" but to love it enough to sustain what magic, real magic happens, when I watch the shiny object pass, and have the courage to be alone with the silence.
Just write: unconcerned with looking good, saying the right thing, but let me just write from this precious heart I've been given and say the things I believe to be true. Chances are the practice will follow where the heart goes and the mind chooses to stay.
It nags at me like a homework assignment unfinished.
I even made up a story: that it has been over six months since my last post.
It's actually been just over 2 months.
The stories I tell myself!
I want to tell myself new stories.
That writing is a joyful place for me. And I'm good at it.
And people listen to what I have to say. And if I find myself just here for a few minutes every day, the writing and the joy will follow.
It isn't the writing I escape, it's the practice: the discipline of doing: saying I will do something and then doing it. I make big declarations: even in the sentence above: "few minutes every day" and then I fall short. My intention is there: it's the follow through where I stumble.
My intention is always there: wanting to be, do, help, create it all; all the time: pleasing, achieving. But the real opportunity is to be in the next breath, too: present, helping, being after the bold offer of help and ideas.
My practice is to stick the landing: stay present and calm enough for the next moment and the one after that. To love and jump to the "shiny" but to love it enough to sustain what magic, real magic happens, when I watch the shiny object pass, and have the courage to be alone with the silence.
Just write: unconcerned with looking good, saying the right thing, but let me just write from this precious heart I've been given and say the things I believe to be true. Chances are the practice will follow where the heart goes and the mind chooses to stay.
