Honoring the Moment

You feel alone and pessimistic, tired of your skin, your unique pain. You’re tempted to resignation, to regret, or even things much smaller yet, things like self-pity, or manipulation, or resentment. You’re in the moment, aware of the darkness, but also that the darkness—however long and deep it may be—is not intolerable, nor permanent. You detach a little more, and simply observe.  Alongside the discouragement, you’re conscious of longing and hope too, and despite the more dark-toned emotions, immense gratitude.

You and sit and observe all of it as truth, without judgment. You hold the tension between what is and what you want in your hands, and then offer it up to the universe. You reject self-pity and, still observing and honoring your internal truth, take a step or two to love and nurture yourself, and in doing so, find enough of your essence to spill over onto your partner, your lover, your best friend.

And then the unexpected: you step out onto the street, see an old acquaintance you once had little in common with and normally exchange little more than a hello with. But today your intuition tells you this is no longer true, and you say just a little more than hello, and before you know it, you’re walking together, talking, and your intuition is confirmed: you now not only have something very major in common; you have in each other an ally on a number of sobering weights you have long carried mostly in private.

Or, in your mailbox, a note from someone you don’t remember, but who remembers you, and your family, and who affirms you deeply in exactly the way you need to be affirmed.

Or, you sleep deeply through a long night and wake up refreshed, without pain, and you feel like making carrot ginger soup, perhaps sharing with a friend.

An abundance of wealth.

It’s a way of being, meditation is. It’s living in that place between what is and what might be, that place that has room for our loneliness and limitations, but also room for our hopes and dreams. It’s a way of honoring our truest selves, more than it is something we do. It’s a way of milking all we can from life, embracing the richness of the comfortable alongside the uncomfortable. It doesn’t change things, but it changes everything.

9 thoughts on “Honoring the Moment

  1. A hot summer sun beat down on my fatiguing loneliness of darkness where desire was for a long restful sleep and my loneliness was noticed by a person who took initiative to remark about the weather that opened up a communication that crossed the curtain of darkness to enter the wonder of the joy of life, a blue sky, prairie wool and crocuses. No longer alone.
    Thank you for your reflection, Connie. Ray

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