The pangs of life,
Both beauty and pain reside here.
Where does the technicolor of this life’s movement lose us?
Where does the landscape that is the earth,
Fall blinded under our footsteps?
The air that is our first breath,
Awakening us to a lived reality as form become forgotten?
I look around,
Do others notice,
That they too are lost,
That in fact they have yet to remember there is another way,
The experience of this reality veiled,
The illusion of a solid form forgotten as we stride,
Taking pause only long enough to count what we have,
Who we have yet to convince,
Of our worth,
Of the one who seeks so desperately to be reminded they are loved.
We have never been unworthy, wrong, or unloved.
We have always been whole and beautiful in love as love.
So where does the automation of your being land,
Is it in the tale being told of the one who will become?
What if you being is enough?
What if your being is enough?
What if you are already enough?
Would you rest?
Allow yourself to settle into the tenderness and gruffness and pain of life,
Sensing that this life is for it to experience itself,
To know the joys and sorrows that in its perfect self would otherwise not know.
Can the technicolor sight and soundscape simply be the backdrop to that which senses?
The rhythm that beats our heart in time,
And the breath that breathes us into being.
Notice with curiosity.
The space for a possibility that...
You are held.
© Julia Stolk