Opening your heart to pain is part of being fully alive. But it still sucks.

There is loss all around me, and I am stumbling to find a way to bear witness and be present without being being torn to pieces by the pain of it. Perhaps being torn to pieces is the only way.

I recorded this in a moment of inspiration (maybe desperation describes it better) yesterday morning. As shy as I am to share it (it's a little too raw; I'm a little too just-out-of-the-shower), it feels like the only thing I have to offer right now.

I witness my aunt and my family, who are navigating the consequences of my aunt's terminal cancer diagnosis even as we continue to mourn my grandmother's passing.

I witness my peer group, who are struggling to come to terms with the passing of many of our role models this year, including the suicide of one of our most beloved role models. I witness the fear in myself, that the darkness can take any of us, no matter how old we are, no matter how accomplished or beloved.

And I witness my fellow humans nationwide, most recently in Ferguson, who are hurting and mourning and raging as a result of repeated injustice. I witness them here, and I will witness them on Thursday afternoon as part of a National Moment of Silence vigil. There is a vigil in your area, too. Find it and consider attending. It's not the most we can do, but it's a start.

No matter who you are, your greatest gift is your attention, your intention, your energy. Don't shy away; don't hide it under a bushel. Be a part of what's going on, even if doing so threatens to tear you to pieces.

It's Not My Time Yet

Here's what the beloved little voice had to say to me today: it's not your time yet, sweetie.

...

If only I become rich and famous, I thought growing up, I will be ok. Whether by upbringing or environment, I became convinced that my only way "out" was to become lauded. At first I thought I'd become a beautiful movie star. When puberty hit, I de-prioritized that goal (though it never really left) and decided I'd be ... a quirky belting Broadway star! --- Hrm, no dancing skills to speak of, so better amend that ... an opera singer!

I struggled, and still struggle, to find my thing, my niche, my area of expertise that all others look to me for guidance on. I'm looking for a way to be powerful, because I'm afraid of what it means to not have power. In a world where I need money and power to be safe, being niche-less means I am vulnerable.

I'm starting to think that's ok.

It's not my time yet to be a leader. I don't have experience to share yet. What I can share is my time and my attention. I can be a conscious follower. I can be part of the village, and I can learn from my elders. The older I get, and the more the scales of stubborn independence fall away from my eyes, the more I realize how much there is to learn from my elders.

I hope that, someday, it will be my time to lead. And I hope I'll do it from a place of soft wisdom and peace, instead of hard anxiety and fear.

New Weekend Feature Idea: Weekend Wellness Roundup!

Internetlings,

I've been hit with a sudden lightning bolt of purpose. (Amazing!)

I am walking a meandering path towards spiritual, emotional and physical wellness, and I want to meet my fellow travelers.

So, I'm trying something new -- I'm going to host a weekly roundup of blog posts, and your experience is most welcome and worthy. Won't you join me by adding your voice to the chorus?

Everyone is welcome and anything goes. I only ask that your post relate in some way to your wellness journey, whether that be spiritual, emotional, or physical.

More details on how to join below (or just click the 'Add your link' button to share your post!).

In loving-kindness,
Helen

An InLinkz Link-up

Paradiddle & Ohm

Gene Kelly was a family favorite in my childhood household. I had an anthology set of Gene Kelly recordings, which got us through many family road trips to Mammoth. But as much as I loved watching him act and sing, it never held a candle to his dancing. Scenes like the Summer Stock newspaper tap routine left me in awe. I loved the earthiness of his dancing, and much preferred him over that twirler Fred.

But, alas, I was quite an awkward child, very uncoordinated and unaware of my body. What's more, the very few times I took tap classes (peppered throughout childhood and even into college), I was too wrapped up in trying to be good at tapping. I never enjoyed simply tapping -- good, bad or otherwise.

Well, I've recently enrolled in a tap class at the local community center, and I'm proud to report I'm average (at best). I had a lovely moment of epiphany today in class: as you might know, tapping requires your feet and other muscles to be loose. You can't muscle your way into the right sounds. Now that I'm a few classes in, the muscle memory of some of the steps are kicking in. There is a pleasant feeling of zen detachment that comes to me over the course of the class. And that is when I do my best tapping.